Whiskey, Rum and Friends
by Insomniac37
Summary: Good rum, good friends and a long story make for a perfect evening. What do these old friends have to say about what brought some of them together and tore others away? It's finally here, good readers, sorry for the delay. Read on.
1. Hi again

Hello there. Just some random insomniac here.

It's about 3 a.m. And I'm just sitting here trying to think about what I need to say about this story. There's a bunch of shit you have to know before you read it, but right now I can't remember what any of it is. Figures. All this stuff pours out of my head faster than I can type it and now I'm stuck with writer's block...on the intro... I sort of wish there was someone else here to tell me what to write.

Racetrack: "Youse called, heartlips?"

Oh, Race. Thank God you're here.

Kid Blink: "And us! Don't forget 'bout us!"

Spot: "Yea, youse couldn't a done dis without us."

Yes, yes. How could I forget? This story is about you guys. And don't hit me please, Kid. You're always doing that. I'm not a boy. Hit Mush instead.

Mush: " 'ey leave me outta it."

What? The story? You don't wanna be in it anymore?

Mush: "No! I wanna be in it! I was just sayin'-"

Spot: " 'ey stop flirtin' and get on wit' it. Youse gotta bunch a shit ta say 'bout tha story."

Will you guys stop hitting me?

Racetrack: "Alrigh' foirst, youse gotta say dat thing you always say."

Oh, I don't own Newsies.

Spot: "Yea, dat."

Mitts: "And don't forget ta tell dem 'bout tha otha story."

Kid Blink: "The Usual and the Unexpected"

Racetrack: "Man, if dat was a headline, I'd have ta eat fi'ty pape's."

Hey!

Racetrack: "Aw, I'm jus' sayin' it's kinda long and dere ain't no snap ta it."

Christ that was mean, Race!

Racetrack: "Not tha whole story, just tha title. The story's good, heartlips. 'Cept I'm not in it enough."

Spot: "Ya so full a yaself, Race. Sit down, ya bum, and let her finish."

Thank you, Spot. And I swear to God, the next person who hits me is getting written out of the story. So, anyways, you wouldn't have to read the prequel to understand this story. This story stands on it's own. I suppose it's not really even a prequel. The stories themselves are just interconnected.

Mitts: "Yea, but ya introduced a coupla characters in it. Like me."

True, true and you are adorable Mitts.

Mitts: "Aw, look, I know youse love me and I love youse too, but I prefer 'handsome' and 'mysterious'."

Spot here. She jus' got up ta either strangle Mitts or make out wit' him. I dunno which yet. Anyways, read '_The Usual and the Unexpected_' if youse want ta know more 'bout tha characters. Plus, I'm in it a lot so youse won't get bored. Dis story took her a lot a time ta write, all real late at night. She don't sleep, like ever. So if youse like it, youse should drop her a line and tell her. I know she'd really like dat. Whoa, here she comes.

Spot, what did you do?

Spot: "Nothin'."

Mush: "Yea, he didn't do nothin', swear."

Kid Blink: " 'ey ain'tchu missin' an earring?"

What? No, I- wait I am. That's funny, where could it have- Mitts!

Mitts: "What?"

Give that back.

Mitts: "I dunno what youse is talkin' 'bout."

I swear to God, Mitts.

Mitts: "Alrigh', alrigh', jeez. Hea. Ow, fuck, come on. Don't."

Racetrack: "5:1 heartlips soaks him!"

Kid Blink: "Weren't youse tha one sayin' we shouldn't hit people?"

Mitts: " 'ey! Stop! Ain't like youse was usin' it! Ow!"

Mush: "Man, this intro should be rated like tha story. T- for language and violence. 'ey, come on, don't youse think it's time ta start tha story?"

Yeah, you're right Mush, I do. I really do.

Kid Blink: "Aw shit, Mush, I was watchin' dat. Showed promise."

Spot: "Yea, really, I was gonna bet he didn't block a single punch."

Kid Blink: "I was gonna bet Mitts ended up with a nice shina."

Mitts: " 'ey! Youse guys is all bettin' against me!"

Racetrack: "Safest bet."

Alright, alright, shut it guys. Let's get this show on the road. To my returning readers: I love you. I am truly sorry for the delay. To the rest of you: I really hope you enjoy it.


	2. Chapter 1

The warehouse on South Street stood the same as it always had since the very first time she had seen it almost six years ago. It was square, solid and white-washed. The floor of it was still filled with bunk beds, mattresses and hammocks. The boys who inhabited it, got up, sold papers, stole wallets and ate her cooking. They swam in the water off the pier, lost their money on bets and card games and smoked too many cigarettes. Then, they'd win their money back, sleep and do it all over again the next day. In six years, nothing had really changed. Perhaps that was why, despite everything, it felt like home. Maybe it only felt that way to her, though, because after six years, she was still here.

One thing that had changed, however, were the actual boys themselves. Some had moved on, some had gotten older, new ones had taken the places of the ones who had left. No one ever asked them why they were there. No one judged them if they did share their reasons. No one followed them when they left. The warehouse was simply a temporary sanctuary for the forgotten boys of Brooklyn. It was a place for them to spend their days until they were forced out of it to deal with whatever had put them there in the first place. And they just kept coming. There was no short supply of them. Though their names and faces changed, they were still the Brooklyn Newsies.

She was different from them, though. Her name was Shina, or at least, that was what everyone called her. The impressive black eye that she had been named for had healed a long time ago, but when you got a nickname, it stuck. Mitts and Spot were the only two Brooklyn Newsies that had ever called her by her real name: Amy.

It was almost six years since she had first come to this place; six years since she had fished a bleeding and unconscious Spot Conlon out of the East River; six years since he had taken her hand and asked her to come with him. Six years had turned this place into her home.

The warehouse was not temporary for her. She wasn't the only one, but they were few in number. There was only a handful of them that truly had nowhere else to be. '_The lifers_' she always called them in her head. They were unwanted orphans or run-aways that did not have a past to catch up to them. A '_lifer_' was someone who would not leave. She was one of them. Spot Conlon was another.

He was still their leader, though he was not really one of them anymore. He had stopped selling papers a long time ago, abandoned for a more profitable line of work. He owned a bar now, on Bridge Street, but he had not forgotten his newsies and they had not forgotten him either. He was a living legend all over New York City and still as respected as the very first day he had taken up the mantle of leadership.

"Somethin' smells good."

She turned quickly to meet his piercing blue stare and arrogant smirk. She was always just a little surprised at the way he could sneak up on her. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently and she smiled and turned back to the old metal barrel to ladle him a bowl of stew.

"Speaking of food, I saw Angie yesterday and she said we should come to Hope House for dinner tonight."

He nodded as he spooned piping hot stew into his mouth. She knew he liked it over there, regardless of the fact that he never admitted to liking much of anything.

"She said Blink and Mush are coming by. So, sounds like everyone will be there."

He nodded in appreciation of the news, but did not comment. She knew what he was thinking, but did not press him for details.

"Haven't seen dose guys ova dere in a while." He said, a little too off-handedly to be believable.

"You kidding me? We were over there three nights ago." She argued.

He rubbed at the back of his neck a little sheepishly.

"Yea, well, dat stuff Race makes, it's good shit."

Her laugh was like the sound of a bell ringing.

"Anyways, I meant Mush and Kid." He continued. "Been what? Three months?"

"Four." She corrected immediately.

It was his turn to laugh.

"So, excited ta see ya boyfriend on tha side?"

She laughed again and reached up to kiss him. He knew she had a little soft spot for Blink, but he didn't really doubt her loyalty. He knew the truth of the matter when her lips met his. It didn't mean he couldn't poke a little fun at her, though.

"Yes, I am." She said still holding onto his neck.

He closed his eyes. She always managed to get him back. Her attitude was maddening and he loved it. Spot opened his mouth to retort back, but was brought up short by a tug on his sleeve. He stared down at the newsie beside him. He was young, nine or ten at most, and he seemed to cower under Spot's fierce blue gaze. Amy did not recognize him.

"Who are youse?" Spot asked.

"J." Said the boy. "Just J."

"I'm Spot."

"I know. I have a message from Queens."

Spot nodded for the boy to go on, but he glanced up at Amy and motioned for Spot to come closer. Amy turned back to her cook pot with a good grace and a grin. Clearly, the boy had been told not to tell anyone but Spot. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Spot bend down and the boy whisper something in his ear. Then he straightened up and stared at the Queens Newsie for a long moment.

"Youse sure?" Spot asked and the boy nodded quickly.

"Youse take dis message back den. Tell dem-" He hesitated for a moment, tilting is head back and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about how to word his message.

"It'll be safe for dem where it all started. Tell dem I'll meet dem dere."

The boy looked at him quizzically, but did not bother to ask if the message would mean anything to it's intended.

"Youse got it?"

"Yes, sir. Got it."

Amy saw the boy actually shake a little in fear. She knew Spot could be a little intimidating at best and she backhanded him lightly on the shoulder and handed the boy a bowl of stew, her motherly instincts taking over.

"Good job, J. Have some breakfast and then off you go."

The boy's eyes lit up. He took the bowl from her and shoveled it down in five or six huge bites as they watched. Then, with a word of thanks to Amy, he positively fled from Spot's presence.

"What was that about?" She asked him as J disappeared. Spot frowned a little.

"Dunno yet."

She shrugged. It was always something for the King of the Brooklyn Newsies. She knew that lately, it had been the leadership struggles in Queens. The short version was that the old leader was being overthrown by a new, younger newsie and Queens was about ready to break into two rival factions. She assumed that J had come with a message from one of them.

"I gotta stop by tha bar." He said and with a peck to her cheek he headed off toward the door.

"Don't forget about Hope House tonight!" She called after his back.

He raised a lazy hand in acknowledgement, but did not turn back.

* * *

Hope House was a small tenement in Manhattan. When they first stepped inside the open door, they were set upon immediately by a smirking, short Italian. He had a cigar stuck between his teeth and a glass of some dark brown liquid in his hand.

"Spot, Shina, why ain't youse drinkin' yet? Get tha hell in hea." He said cheerfully in lieu of a greeting.

Racetrack spit in his palm and shook Spot's hand. Then he kissed Amy on the cheek and motioned them through the dining room door. There was a loud outcry of recognition and welcome as they entered. She saw the dark, but pretty faces of two Italian women who were busy setting the table. They smiled at her and the older of the two waved. Two blond girls sat at the far end of the table. One was around her own age, the other was quite a bit younger. They both wore smiles that lit their matching blue eyes. Mush and Kid Blink both stood up to spit shake with Spot. Amy threw herself into Blink's arms with a happy little shout and kissed him on his cheek.

"Where youse been, Spot?" Mush asked.

"Where a youse been?" He shot back. "I'm here every otha night."

"More den dat when I'm runnin' tha distillery in tha basement." Race put in and they all laughed.

"Well, someone's gotta look after Blink hea." Mush said nodding to Blink. "I keep him outta trouble, ya know?"

"I keep _youse_ outta more trouble than you put on me." Blink said with a laugh and a playful slap to Mush's face.

Blink pulled out a chair and motioned her into it. Racetrack, a hand on each of Spot's shoulders, shoved him down into another. He set two glasses of the same dark brown liquid down in front of them with a grin. She smiled happily. The presence of these people was warming. Even Spot's face held a satisfied smirk. At some point in her life, without really realizing it, these people had become her friends.

Friends were people that you had seen laugh and cry. Friends were people you shared experiences with; of happiness and love; of heartache and loss. She had shared all of those things with these people. All of that, and many, many drinks.


	3. Chapter 2

_Her eyes traveled around the table and fell on the small blond who was clinging to Mush's elbow._

"_Goodness, you've grown." She told her with a little bit of surprise. "How old are youse now?"_

"_Twelve." She answered with a slight blush at being included in the conversation._

"_I 'member when I foirst met youse." Mush said, putting an arm around the girl._

_"Same day I met Autumn too." He added with a wink at Spot._

"_Oh yea? I bet it was all butterflies and hearts and kittens and shit." Spot told him sarcastically._

"_Nah, but he wishes it was." Blink put in, elbowing Mush in the ribs._

* * *

Mush smiled to himself as he jingled a full pocket of change. It was turning into a beautiful day, sunny and warm. On top of that, he had just sold his very last paper. Usually, he only took fifty or so from the distribution center. He didn't always sell out, but he had taken a gamble this morning and bought seventy. All-in-all, it meant he had almost a dollar in his pocket and a smile on his face. It was going to be a good day, he could already tell.

An odd noise made him look around. It was coming from an alley just off the street he had been selling on. Living in New York had often taught him the hard way to mind his own business, but when he realized the sound was soft crying his curiosity got the better of him. He strode to the mouth of the alleyway and peeked around the corner. There was a tiny girl. She couldn't have been any more than six or seven years old. She was blond and wearing a blue-striped dress. She had her knees drawn right up to her chest, with her head laid down on them. She was, indeed, crying. Mush, true to his name, turned to mush.

" 'ey, goil, why ya cryin'?" He asked before he could stop himself.

The little girl looked up, startled. Her big blue eyes were watery and red-rimmed. She looked scared at being discovered.

"I ain't gonna hoirt'cha." Mush said, kneeling down in front of the little girl. She hugged her knees tighter, perhaps in a subconscious effort to protect herself.

"Youse alrigh'?" He asked her softly.

The girl stared up at Mush and blinked a few times. Perhaps it was the look of concern written plainly across his face, or his big, honest brown eyes, but suddenly and without warning, the little girl flung her arms around Mush and began to cry into his stomach. He was a little startled. Normally, he got tongue-tied and shy around girls his own age and he had virtually no experience with girls as young as this one. Unsure of himself, he put a tentative arm around her shoulders.

" 'ey, s'alrigh'. Stop cryin' now."

Almost instantly, the girl seemed to shut her tears off, but her face still looked distressed as she looked up at him.

"Ya ain't hoirt, are youse?" He asked. She shook her head.

"Den what'cha cryin' for?"

Her lip trembled slightly as if she were about to cry again. Then she burst out: "I'm lost."

Mush smiled brightly at the girl. Here was a problem he could help with.

"Well, my name's Mush. And it just so happens dat I know dis whole city. So youse and me, we's gonna get youse un-lost."

The little girl's face brightened and she smiled. Mush's heart swelled. She was a cute little girl. He stood and offered her his hand. She took it, still beaming up at him.

"Youse gotta name?"

"Katie." She said.

"So, Katie, where were ya goin' when youse got lost?"

"To see my sister." She supplied at once as he led her toward the street.

"Where's she now?"

"At work. She sews up clothes for other people."

Mush nodded, but it didn't get him far, there had to be a thousand tailoring shops in the city.

"Do ya know what tha place is coilled?"

The little girl's face fell and she shook her head. Mush shrugged his shoulders.

"How 'bout where ya live?"

"It's called the Chapparo Tenement. It's on Pell Street."

Now they were getting somewhere. The name of the house wasn't familiar to him, but he knew the street. It wasn't far. He started off down the sidewalk with the little girl in tow.

"So, why'd ya get lost?" He asked her as they walked. She would not meet his eyes.

"I'm not supposed to be out on my own." She admitted finally. "But my sister made me this dress and left it for me to find and I wanted to see her face when she saw me wearing it." The little girl finished in a rush, excited and out of breath. Mush smiled down at her and laughed. She was adorable.

The Chapparo Tenement was small and somewhat shabby looking on the outside.

"Dis it?" Mush asked the little girl. She nodded.

He tried the door, but found it locked. He knocked and peered in through the window. After a few minutes, they realized no one was home.

"Dere usually someone hea durin' tha day?" Mush asked the girl.

"Usually Luis is here." She said uncertainly.

Mush was at a loss now. He couldn't just leave her here. It would be just as bad as leaving her in some alley with no one to look after her.

"Well, ya hungry? We'll come back lata, I guess."

They had gone to lunch at Tibby's, then returned to the tenement after. Still there was no one there. Mush, having a brain wave, had gone into a nearby shop, borrowed a pencil, scribbled a note giving the address of his own lodging house, and left it in the crack of the door of the tenement. With no other option, he had taken Katie with him.

The bunk room was noisy, as it usually was, when they entered. Racetrack spotted them first and could not help himself.

"Aww, look, and I didn't even know youse was pregnant, Mush." He said clapping him on the shoulder. "Blink, here, is tha father, I assume?" He asked pointing to the one-eyed blond.

"Shaddap, Race." Mush said, coloring slightly.

Jack had sauntered up to them. Katie had hidden herself behind Mush's leg.

"S'goin' on?" He asked, attempting to peer around Mush to see the little girl.

"I found her. She said she was lost. We went to her home, but no one was dere. Someone'll come lookin' for her." Mush shrugged.

Jack did too and returned to his poker game with Race and Blink. Mush eagerly joined in and Katie sat herself down on Mush's knee without invitation. Racetrack had to make another jibe about '_Daddy Mush_'.

"So what's you're name, cutie?" Race asked her, his attitude changing in a heartbeat from prankster to fatherly.

She had turned toward Mush and actually buried her face in his chest before mumbling out an answer.

"Katie."

Jack and Race both sniggered as Mush put an arm around the girl, but Blink had leaned forward. His one visible eye had narrowed.

"What?"

"She said '_Katie_'!" Racetrack boomed. "What'cha deaf and blind?"

Race laughed at his own wit, but Blink continued to stare at Katie and now, Jack was watching Blink closely. After a moment, Blink seemed to shrug something off and, catching Jack staring at him, merely grinned.

It was nearing nightfall when someone did turn up looking for Katie. A tall, slender blond that looked just like her, though about Mush's own age. Even though her blue eyes were frantic and her expression was scared, Mush couldn't help but think she was extremely pretty.

"Katie!" She cried as she entered the bunk room doorway with Kloppman at her heels. The little girl scrambled off Mush's knee and ran to her.

"You shouldn't have left the house! Luis was so worried when he couldn't find you. He's been out looking for you all afternoon!" She scolded the girl.

"I know. I'm sorry." The little girl said and hung her head. "But it's okay, Mush found me." She pointed to him.

Mush had been staring. Many of the boys were. Blink's mouth had actually dropped open. As Katie pointed at Mush he swallowed hard and stood up. Several of the boys had snatched their hats off their heads and he did the same as he approached.

"Thank you. Thank you so much Mr.-" The girl said, straightening up and offering a hand to Mush.

"Just Mush." He mumbled, shaking her hand, though forgoing the spit.

"Autumn. I'm Katie's sister." She said, introducing herself. "I don't know what I would have done if-" She had stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes had just fallen on Blink, who had joined Mush's side.

"You." She whispered.

Mush looked over his shoulder at Blink. He could only see Blink's eye patch from this side, but he could tell Blink was still staring at her. His mouth still hung open. They stared at each other for a long time. Then Blink's gaze dropped down to Katie who, like Mush and the rest of the boys in the room, where looking back and forth between Autumn and Blink. This seemed to re-awaken him to the presence of twenty or so watchful pairs of eyes.

"Come on." He said to her, taking her elbow and guiding her out the door.

Mush watched them go, but did not speak. Finally, he turned his back on the door and sat back down at the poker table.

"What was dat about, ya think?" He asked Racetrack and Jack. They exchanged a look.

"Youse really dat stupid?" Race asked, through the cigar in his teeth.

Mush frowned at him.

"Blink can't have a kid." He thought aloud. Race sniggered.

"Yea, unless he had Katie when he was about nine."

"But she looked just like him."

"Autumn? Yea, blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty." Sighed Race.

Mush knitted his eyebrows. He had been thinking of Katie, but now that he thought about it, all three of them looked the same. The exact same shade of blond hair and blue eyes. The same slender build and skin tone. Jack had been watching him closely with something of a grin.

"Keep goin', Sherlock, youse almost dere." He said when Mush looked up at him. The gears ground to a halt in his head. Something clicked.

"Ya think so?"

Jack nodded solemnly.


	4. Chapter 3

"_Autumn tol' me ta come ta dinna tha next night and I thought I'd be nice and bring dese two idiots along." Blink said pointing across the table to Race and then backhanding Mush across the shoulder._

"_I told you to bring them!" Autumn corrected him._

"_Yea, well youse only said Mush. I didn't know den dat youse already wanted ta date him."_

Autumn's mouth dropped open and they laughed at her, but she regained her composure quickly.

"_I just wanted to thank him for taking care of Katie." She said in a dignified way._

"_Yea, with your tongue." Concha said under her breath, but no one around the table missed it and they laughed again. Mush's ears turned more red than Autumn's._

"_Well, all tha neckin' at tha dinna table aside, we still had a good time, right? And dat was tha first time I met youse Concha." Race said with a smile, batting his eyelashes ludicrously at her._

"_Ugh, gag me." Concha replied putting her palm on his face and pushing it gently away._

_They all laughed, this time at Race._

* * *

"Mush!"

Racetrack backhanded him across the chest and leaned up against the building that Mush had been propped against for the last twenty minutes.

"S'matta wit'cha? Youse jus' staring at nothin'."

"I was jus' thinkin' 'bout Kid. Youse seen him?" He asked.

Racetrack appeared to ponder the question.

"Not since last night."

"Me either. I didn't even see him at tha distribution center dis mornin'."

"Youse ain't worried 'bout him, are youse?" Race asked, lighting his cigar.

"Not exactly."

Racetrack knew that wasn't the whole truth, because he felt the same way. He wasn't exactly worried about Blink. They both knew he could take care of himself. They all could; the newsies, but there had been something about the strange turn of events the previous night. Something about the way the usual happy-go-lucky Blink, had frowned. Racetrack found himself wondering just how close of friends Mush and Blink were.

Blink had never told him anything about his past. It was sort of the first, unspoken, rule of being a newsie. You didn't gripe about what happened to you. Everyone had a story. Everyone had a reason they were alone in the world. Being alone had brought them all together. Sure, you could talk if you needed to, and almost anyone would listen without judgment, but Blink never had and now Racetrack wondered.

He wondered why Blink had left home. He wondered about the eye patch his friend wore. It wasn't a scam, Race knew that much. Blink was nearly blind in one eye. He had seen it on occasion. The blue color of his left eye was clouded, almost translucent. A jagged scar ran from his eyebrow to the top of his cheek. The way the injury had healed caused his eye to be almost closed when his face was relaxed. Blink had once told him that he sometimes got headaches when he used his bad eye too much. So he wore the patch to keep away the headaches and keep people from staring. Also, his depth perception wasn't too good with one useful eye. Sometimes, he would reach out for something that was a little closer or further away than he expected, and miss. Mush, especially, always made fun of him for it. Blink, being who he was, always smiled his giant, sloppy grin and laughed with them. Racetrack wondered if they had been wrong.

"What'cha doing hea, Race. How come youse ain't at Sheepshead?" Mush asked him, and he had to clear his mind with a shake of his head.

"Ah, all dogs today. Ain't really my thing, ya know? I like tha hoirses." He answered, his head almost invisible through the thick haze of cigar smoke.

They both fell silent and stared out onto the busy street. As if their thoughts about him had made him magically appear, a familiar blond ambled slowly past. He had his head down and his hands deep in his pockets. He was frowning down at his feet. Mush had seen him too.

"Dere he is now. Blink!" Race waved a hand through the air until Blink, looking around, spotted them and trudged over.

Kid Blink usually had the energy of ten boys. He, most assuredly, did not trudge. Yet, here he was, hands in his pockets, staring down at the street and kicking pebbles out of the way as he joined them.

"Youse alrigh'?" Mush asked him when he reached them. "Haven't seen youse since last night."

"Yea, I just walked tha goils home and den took a walk meself." Blink said off-handedly.

"Dey're ya sistas, ain't dey?" Race asked. Mush raised his eyebrows at him. It was rather a blunt question, but Race wasn't a master of tact.

"Oh, come on. Autumn could be ya twin." Race cajoled.

Blink nodded slowly.

"She is my twin." Blink admitted finally.

"Ya sista's real cute." Mush said suddenly with a grin.

"I hope youse mean Katie." He said, his one eye narrowing.

"Yea, a course he means Katie." Race said innocently, but ruining the effect by elbowing Mush in the ribs. They laughed, and for a moment Blink stared Mush down.

"Well, Katie's completely in love wit' youse Mush." Race said, steering the conversation down a less dangerous route, and clapping Blink on both shoulders, shaking him slightly.

"She wouldn't shut up 'bout youse all tha way home." Blink agreed. His expression cleared. His mood lightened.

"She is pretty cute." Mush admitted, this time actually thinking about Katie.

"I was just headed over dere now. Youse guys wanna come?" He asked.

They had agreed and set out together. Blink seemed rather more himself now, and Race was relieved to see him smile. As long as he had known Blink, he was always cheerful. He always had the same sloppy grin plastered across his face. Last night, it had disappeared and Race had to admit to himself that he had been worried. It was good to see it was back.

The Chapparo Tenement, though dirty on the outside was clean on the inside. The door was opened to them by a short, loud, Italian girl. She had called up the stairs for Autumn and Katie, and Katie had practically fallen down them to get into Mush's arms as fast as she could. Autumn had introduced them to Luis Chapparo. He was a short, wide, good-natured Italian man that took an immediate shine to Race and had made them all stay for dinner.

"Don't have but five boarders." He had explained, "Plus my daughters, and they're all around your age. So I look after 'em like my own."

"Papa, you take better care of them then you do us." The Italian girl had said as she busied herself setting the table.

Luis turned in his chair to look at his daughter. There was a smile on his face.

"Well, maybe because they ain't as loud and obnoxious as you, Concetta." He snapped back at her.

"Hrm, where do you think I learned it from?" She asked, effectively shutting him up. "And what about Angie?" She continued as what was obviously Luis' younger daughter entered with a pot full of something that smelled delicious.

"Well she's a good girl which is why I love her more." Luis said as his younger daughter stopped to kiss him on the cheek.

"Oh, you mean shy and quiet." Concetta argued, and she stood on her tiptoes, clasped her hands in front of her and batted her eyelashes. Angie threw a potholder at her sister. Race had the impression that Angie wasn't as shy and quiet as Concetta made her out to be.

"Maybe if you were good like Angie, I'd love you more, Concha." Luis said with a laugh. There was a sparkle in his eye and it was clear that whatever he said to the contrary, he doted on both his daughters.

"Where's the fun in being a good girl?" Concetta asked rolling her eyes.

Racetrack backhanded Mush across the shoulder, staring at Concha with his mouth hanging open. Luis roared with laughter. Mush elbowed Race back with a smile. Autumn had been watching, and was grinning at them both.

Racetrack finally looked up from Concha when a boy and a girl stepped into the room. They were Asian. The boy looked only a year or two older than himself and the girl a year or two younger. The boy had turned to Luis at once.

"About rent, Mr. Chapparo, I don't quite have it, but I will as soon as I get paid next." His accent was heavy, but his English was clean.

Luis waved the information aside with an airy hand.

"When you've got it, you've got it, and how many times do I have to ask you not to call me mister. It makes me feel old."

"At least one more time, Mr. Chapparo." Said the boy with a smile as he gave a little bow in Luis' direction.

Luis shook his head and turned back to the table.

"This is Koji, and his sister Megumi."

"We just call her '_Meg_'." Angie piped up, giving Megumi's arm a squeeze as she pulled out a chair for herself.

"You don't mind, do you, Meg?"

The girl's face colored a bit as she sat down, but she shook her head. '_Now here was the definition of shy and quiet_', Racetrack thought to himself. Next to Meg, Angie seemed more like Concha. Koji, however, was pleasant and sociable. He shook hands around the table and the boys introduced themselves. Race liked him, almost immediately. The last inhabitant of the house sidled into the room just as they had begun to serve themselves.

"Ah, there you are. Joshua, sit down, sit down." Luis had roared nearly knocking the man into a chair, forcefully.

Joshua was very tall, skinny to the point of looking unhealthy and several years older than everyone else. His skin was the color of the deepest hour of night and when he smiled warmly, his teeth stood out in ridiculous contrast.

"Hello, everyone." He said. His voice was slow, soothing and very deep.

Dinner was loud, mostly because of Concha and her father's bickering which kept them all laughing. Luis told them all about the distillery he had in the basement. He used it to make rum and used the money from it's sale to keep the tenement running. Concha had brought up a rather dusty bottle from the basement and Luis had let them try it. It was wonderfully rich and burned Race's throat going down.

Joshua told them all about the new subway tunnel that he was working to help build. It spanned all the way from Manhattan to Brooklyn and when finished would run a trolley there and back.

At Luis' request, Koji told them all about the time he had snuck into Polo Grounds on opening day of the Giants season and watched the entire game. Mush told him he had never seen a baseball game and Koji's face had lit up. He ended a long explanation of the game with the offer to take Mush someday, explaining how it was easy to sneak in as long as you knew how to do it.

Katie had fallen asleep in Mush's lap and finally, when it was very dark, Blink, Mush and Race had said their goodbyes. Luis made them promise to return soon and Race had kissed Concha's hand.


	5. Chapter 4

_"Dat was the foirst time we had goils around in a long time." Blink said._

_"Yea, it showed." Angie chimed in to a chorus of chuckles._

"_Mush thought I was Katie's father for a while." He laughed._

"_I did not!" Mush snapped back, punching Blink in the shoulder._

"_Yea, ya did. I always knew Mush really was dat stupid." Race put in._

* * *

It had been a rainy afternoon, and now it was a wet night. Deprived of their usual outdoor antics, most of the boys had retreated indoors to the relative warmth and comfort of the Lodging House. The bunk room was noisy and a few card games had sprung up here and there. Most of the boys were saving their money, though. There was to be a '_huge blow-out_', as Jack had put it, at Medda's near the end of the week. Everyone that could save enough money wanted to go. So tonight, most of the boys were crowded around a single makeshift card table where Racetrack, Mush, Jack and, surprisingly enough, David, were playing poker. David had one of his rare evenings off and had come to hang out with the Newsies. Racetrack and Jack were animatedly taunting each other, keeping most of the boys entertained.

Autumn, who had come to visit Blink, was sitting behind Mush. She was sort of a fixture in the boy's bunk room these days. Sometimes with, sometimes without Katie, she came and went just as most of the boys did. When she wasn't there, it was a fair bet she and some of the boys were at the Chapparo's. She was interestedly watching the game and pinching Mush's leg until he selected the right card to discard. Indeed, she was the reason that he was winning most of the hands that he did. David, on the other hand, was quietly cleaning house, as he found Jack and Race incredibly easy to read.

One face alone, was missing from the room. He didn't come in until well after ten when Race and Jack had finally run out of chips. Mush was slowly losing chips to David now and the conclusion was somewhat foregone. Especially since Racetrack had slid around next to Mush and was offering advice which Mush, sadly, was listening to.

Autumn saw him sneak into the room under cover of all the noise. He was soaked to the sink, shivering slightly, rain dripping from his hair. He looked around the room, saw Autumn staring at him and looked away quickly. As quietly as he had come in, he made his way around the outside of the room and climbed through the window onto the fire escape outside. Race let out a roar of delight when, on his advice, Mush's three three's beat David's pair of Ace's, and Autumn slipped away in the ensuing racket to follow Blink.

He was sitting just outside the window with his back against the brick wall of the Lodging House. When she emerged from the window he looked up at her, opened his mouth as if trying to think of something to say, and then closed it again and merely slid farther down the wall to allow her space to sit next to him.

"You okay?" She asked and he nodded slowly.

"Jus' thinkin'."

She had guessed that much. He had hardly spoken a word since they had first been reunited and now it seemed as though he had been on a lonely swim through the streets. She knew he wasn't the quiet type and she knew what was on his mind.

Though she hadn't seen him for nearly three years, he was still her brother. They had grown up together, and she could tell when something was bothering him. She also knew he tended to keep things from her in an effort to protect her. It had always been that way. He was the sort of person who kept things inside, hiding everything behind a sloppy grin so as not to worry anyone else. For a while they both simply started out into the rain. It was a steady, soothing sound. Finally, he broke the silence between them.

"I'm sorry." He whispered.

"I don't blame you, Louis."

He chuckled.

"No one's coilled me that in years."

"Kid, then." She soothed. "You know, I was the one that nicknamed you that."

He looked at her. Her face conjured hazy memories of their mother. From what he could remember, she looked just like Autumn. She had always told them that Autumn was a few minutes older than him. When they had been little Autumn had always played on that fact when bossing him around, calling him: her 'Kid' brother. The corners of Blink's mouth twitched upward at the memory.

"It's Blink now." He said firmly.

"Kid Blink." She corrected him and he chuckled again.

"Yeah, I guess so."

She reached over and poked the eye patch he wore over his left eye gently.

"You look like a pirate."

He laughed and she smiled demurely. The dam was about to break. She could feel it in the air. Experience had taught her to be patient and listen. He would talk when he was ready to.

"I shoulda stayed. I shoulda protected youse. He didn't ever hoirt youse, did he?" The words poured out of him much like a dam cracking under the pressure.

"He tried to. That's why we left." She sighed and he looked dejected. "But I still don't blame you for leaving." She added quickly.

She stared out into the distance. Almost lost in her thoughts as if she could see her memories like a play acted on a stage somewhere out in the dark streets and the rain.

"I remember the night you left. He had been drinking, heavily. Katie was crying. She was hungry. And he started yelling at you. He said: '_A real man should be able to take care of his women_'. You yelled back at him. Asking him if that's why Mom left us."

Blink's face had drained of most of it's color, but she went on.

"And he hit you. I remember Katie was watching. She cried even harder. And for the first time, you hit him back."

Blink looked out into the rain too. Like he could see her stage and the memories acted out upon it. He remembered too, though he had tried to forget.

"I think it shocked him. You hadn't ever done that before. But, he couldn't let you win, so he picked up a bottle from the table and hit you with it. It broke. There was blood everywhere."

Blink reached up, subconsciously, and rubbed the patch over his eye. He finished the rest of the story.

"Youse threw yourself on top a me. Begged him ta stop. Katie stopped crying, she looked so scared. I just wanted ta help her. And he left, slammed tha door."

Autumn nodded.

"I put Katie to bed. Told her everything would be okay. And when I got back to the kitchen you were gone. I waited, but neither of you came back that night. He came back after a few days, but you never did."

Blink dropped his gaze to his hands in his lap.

"I shoulda come back for youse. I'm sorry." He said again, but she shook her head.

"You know, I wanted to leave too, but I never thought I would. I never thought I'd be as brave as you."

"Brave?" He echoed.

She nodded at him.

"You were thirteen, out on your own in the world. It couldn't have been easy."

He nodded solemnly, but still looked upset.

"If you need someone to blame, blame him. Not yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."

He sighed.

"I'm still sorry I left. Not him, or dat place, but youse and Katie."

She took a deep breath. She had thought many times about what she would say to her brother if she ever met him again. There had been times when she had been angry, times when she had been sad, but now that she was here in the moment itself, she couldn't bring herself to tell him. Not when she could see now, what a wretched decision it had been for him.

"You had a choice to make." She said firmly. "I never blamed you for choosing what you did. I chose the same thing, you know, just took me a little longer. You always were the brave one."

She could tell that they were the words he had needed to hear. His face brightened slightly and a off-center smile appeared on his lips. There was still one more thing. She could see it in his eye and she waited patiently to hear it.

"He didn't ever hit youse. Did he?"

"He never laid a hand on Katie and we left the first time he tried to hit me." And she stood up, as if brushing all those memories aside. They were simply unimportant to her; in the past. The only thing that mattered to her was being in the present with her sister and now, her brother. Something she never dared to dream would happen.

"All this time, I never knew what happened to you. I was sure you were alive, but-" She trailed off looking inside through the window at the newsies.

David had apparently won the poker game and Jack was exuberant at what he apparently felt was his win as well. Racetrack was consoling Mush with a hand on his shoulder while shouting at Jack. She smiled.

"This place, these people, they're nice. I'm glad you've been okay." She paused with one hand on the window sill.

"And I've missed you Kid." And bending down, she kissed his forehead. It was something she had used to do a long time ago. A happy memory. She smiled down at him and for the first time he actually smiled. It was something real, something he hadn't really done in a long time. It lit up his face.

"Ugh! You're soaked. Come inside, now, and dry off." She ordered as she stood up again and wiped her mouth of the rain that still clung to his face. He chuckled and accepted her outstretched hand. She pulled him to his feet.

"Besides, Mush is kinda cute." She added with a grin. Blink looked mortally offended.

"Aw, youse guys are killin' me." He said with a sigh.

She looked at him questioningly, but he merely shook his head and motioned her through the window.


	6. Chapter 5

"_Dose were tha days." Racetrack reminisced. "We had a coupla really good times. Youse 'member tha time we all went ta Sheepshead?" _

"_Yea, didn't you lose a dollar dat day?" Mush grinned._

"_Or dat time we snuck into that old church on 14th?" Blink piped in._

"_Aw, it wasn't really sneakin' in. Churches are open ta tha public, ya know?" Race reasoned._

"_Pretty sure they're not open to the public that late at night, Race." Angie admonished lightly._

"_Or how about the time you lit the hem of my skirt on fire with your stupid cigar?" Concha stared Race down with a disapproving look._

"_And 'member Irving Hall that one night? It was packed. Everyone was dere." Racetrack added quickly, mostly to escape Concha's burning glare._

"_No, I don't remember much of it. I was too drunk. Also your fault." Concha answered him and Race looked surprised and outraged at the same time. _

* * *

Racetrack had been late getting back from Sheepshead that night, but it had been worth it. He had bet most of his money on a 1:5 and his long shot had actually won. He had stopped on the way home to buy a new cigar. He was chewing on the end of it now. It tasted delicious, they always did when he won big. His spirits were soaring, there was a swagger in his step and money in his pockets as he sidled up to the Lodging House. He practically collided with Jack coming out the door.

"Heya Cowboy. Damn, youse clean up nice."

Jack had dispensed with the Cowboy hat and wore his suit coat, though his red bandanna hung, as always, around his neck. His face was clean and freshly-shaven. Race laughed at him.

"Youse look all hoity-toity."

Jack smirked at him as he passed.

"Yea, well, maybe dat's why I got a goil ta bring tonight." He said walking backwards down the front steps. "Youse comin'?"

"Wouldn't miss it." Race said with a shrug.

Jack smiled at him and disappeared down the street. Racetrack continued up the stairs. He made his way into the washroom where he met Mush and Blink. Both were wearing coats, vests and hats.

"Heya boys." Race said to them.

"Heya 'Track, come on, we're goin' ta pick up Autumn." Mush said catching him by the collar and physically pulling him towards the door. Race pushed his hand away with a grin.

"S'matta wit'chu? I just got hea. Stay a minute. What's ya rush?"

Blink and Mush grinned at each other as they watched Race splash water on his face and comb his hair. He told them all about his long shot. Every exquisite moment of his big win was painted in loving detail. How he had just '_had a feeling_' and bet his dollar on the 1:5. The anticipation as he had watched them line up and the moment he realized he had placed a winning bet.

"Dat's five dollars, my friends, and I only bet a dollar ta begin wit'." He said.

Blink rolled his eye.

"Yea, you'll lose it tomorrow." He said grinning at Race.

"C'mon, Race, we shoulda been dere by now." Mush said impatiently as Race took his time buttoning the top-most buttons near the collar of his shirt.

"Well, what are youse waitin' for me for?" Race asked turning the corner and grabbing his coat from the peg on the wall. "I'll see youse guys dere."

Blink shook his head and leaned in towards Race as if he were about to impart some great secret.

"I told Autumn to invite Concha and Angie too." Blink said catching hold of Race's collar again and pulling him towards the door. "C'mon." Race raised his eyebrows and allowed himself to be dragged from the room.

Irving hall was loud and rowdy, as usual. Jack, Sarah on his arm, met them in the lobby and led them all right onto the floor to a large table right next to the stage. The girls seemed at awe. Race watched Concha's head swivel as she took in everything. The high, domed ceiling, the thick tapestries that hung on the walls and the rich carpet beneath her feet gave the impression of someplace upscale. The people milled about. Some in seats, some standing, some with drinks, some without. All were chatting amiably with someone they knew and the low, excited buzz of voices was unintelligible and deafening.

"This place is incredible." Concha marveled as Racetrack pulled out a chair and motioned her into it. Is it always like this?"

"Youse shoulda seen tha last time we was hea." Racetrack said with a dismissive wave at the crowds of people.

"Yea for tha Rally. The Newsie Rally." Blink chimed in at once, having sat himself down as well. "The place was busting apart at the seams dere were so many Newsies packed in hea."

"The Newsie Rally?" Autumn asked.

"It was the biggest, loudest, noisiest blow-out this town had eva seen." Jack said and then motioned for her to hold that thought and stood up to stop a passing boy who's blue eyes seemed to flash for a moment before he realized who was standing in his way.

"Dis guy right hea can tell youse all 'bout it." Jack said.

"Well if it ain't Jack-be-nimble, Jack-be-quick."

"Heya Spot." He answered, and with a grin, spit-shook with him.

"So, uh, Jacky-boy, when did all ya newsies become goils?" Spot asked casually, his piercing blue gaze traveling slowly from one face to the next.

"I mean, I always knew Kid, hea, was one." Spot said clapping Blink on the shoulder. "Way he punches." Blink shook his head and got to his feet. Jack grinned. The girls, looked lost.

"Way I 'member it Spot, youse was bleedin' from tha mouth when I got t'rough wit' youse." Spot's eyes gleamed a bit and he pointed his gold-topped cane at Blink's nose.

"Don't youse forget, the playin' field wasn't level. I was still healin'." And Spot gripped the collar of his own shirt pulling it sideways to reveal a long jagged scar across his shoulder.

"Oh, excuses!" Blink said throwing his hands in the air. Spot looked dangerous for half a second. Then his face split into a wide grin and he spit in his hand and offered it to Blink who returned the gesture animatedly.

Jack had been watching the girls, all of whose faces had visibly relaxed as the two had shook hands and he grinned.

"Blink!" The voice was high-pitched, female and delighted. A brown-haired beauty tore past Spot and Jack to throw herself into Blink's outstretched arms. He picked her off her feet, spun once on the spot and set her back on the floor again. The girl reached up and kissed Blink on the cheek.

"You shouldn't do dat in fronta Spot, Shina! Not unless youse want him ta find out about us." Blink said grabbing the spot her lips had touched in an over-dramatic play of shock.

"Don't make me soak youse, Blink." Spot said under his breath as Amy moved over to hug Jack as well. His voice was deadly, but his lips still smiled.

"Don't even think about it Spot." Amy said turning from Jack to point a finger at him. "If I ever see you two fighting, I'll soak you both myself." She said and Blink and Spot exchanged an incredulous look. Jack pushed Spot down into his own seat and pulled up another two from a nearby table.

As their laughter died, Race spoke up.

"So, Spot, Shina. Dis hea is Autumn, Angie and Concetta." He said introducing the girls. As Jack offered Amy a seat and pushed it in for her.

"Ugh, call me Concha." Concetta sighed at once, offering her hand to Spot and Amy in turn.

"But Concetta is such a beautiful name." Race sighed. "So pretty, so Italian." He finished kissing the very tips of his fingers.

"What would you know about Italian names, Mr. Higgins?" She snapped back.

Race shrugged and scratched the back of his head.

"So what are ya doin' so far from Brooklyn, Brooklyn?" Jack asked with a nod at Spot.

"Actually, Medda invited _me_." Amy piped up. "I told Mitts too, he should be here somewhere."

They all looked around over their shoulders, but Spot, who had an odd knack for always knowing where Mitts was, stood up and gave a loud whistle. He had locked his eyes on the back of a brown-haired boy who was talking animatedly to a few other boys. On the sound of the whistle, Mitts had turned his head and Spot waved him over. The boy staggered a little as he walked.

"Mitts! You're drunk!" Amy said jumping to her feet at once. He attempted to hug her, but missed and over-balanced. Everyone laughed and Mitts, a huge grin on his face, took a bottle out of each of his jacket pockets and slammed them down on the table in front of Blink. One of them was already half empty.

"Dea me, what have we hea?" Race asked, reaching across the table and spinning one of the bottles to see the label. "Dewar's White Label. Where didja get dis?" He asked looking up at Mitts who gave him a sloppy grin. Spot laughed at his friend and clapped him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

"Sit down before ya fall down, ya bum." Spot said, steering Mitts into a chair and pulling up another.

"Well, looks like we need some glasses." Racetrack said looking around.

Jack appeared to count heads, lost count, started over, gave up around six, and disappeared into the crowd. Race popped open the bottle and sniffed at it interestedly.

"So, Spot, we was just tellin' dem 'bout tha Newsie Rally." Blink piped up conversationally.

"Yea, all tha Newsies all across tha city showed up. We was on strike, see, and we was tryin' ta get some attention from tha other pape's." Racetrack explained.

"Oh yea," Spot said reminiscently, "wasn't dat tha one dat got so rowdy tha bulls came and busted it up, arrested all of us and we spent tha night in a holdin' cell?"

All three girls gave involuntary gasps of shock, but the boys merely laughed, holding onto each other's shoulders and slapping each other across the chests.

"Blink hea, got smacked one." Spot said, pretending to punch Blink in the eye. "Imagine, eye patch on one eye, big shina on tha otha. Tha bum could barely see." Mush smacked Blink across the cheek playfully and Blink shook his head as they all laughed at him.

"Yea, yea and den next mornin' we gets marched into court, see, and dere's dis judge sittin' on tha bench, and he says: '_are any of ya represented by counsel_?'." Racetrack laughed at the memory.

"Yea, and Race looks over at me and says: '_What's a counsel_?'." Blink put in.

"And den dis guy hea," Race pointed at Spot. "He says: '_Hey, ya honor, I object_." Spot shook his hair out of his eyes and rolled them to the ceiling.

"And tha judge, he looks down his nose and says: '_On what grounds_?'."

Racetrack put both his fists up on the table, puffed his chest out and put his chin up in the air giving them all a sneering, indifferent look. They laughed.

"And Spots says: '_On tha grounds of Brooklyn, ya honor_'." The hilarity mounted and Racetrack actually put his head down on the table and laughed.

Amy rolled her eyes.

"I've heard this story. Then the judge fined you all five dollars each." She slapped Spot lightly across the cheek. "Because someone couldn't hold his tongue."

Spot's eyes flashed and he put his hand around the back of her neck. For just a moment he looked as if he would very much like to strangle her, but a second later he had merely pulled her toward him and kissed her.

"And den Race says: '_Whoa, we don't got five bucks, we don't even got five cents. Ya honor, how 'bout I roll ya for it double or nothin_'?'." Mush finished to more laughter.

Jack was back with glasses and he slammed them down in a line in front of Racetrack who shrugged and poured. He slid them across the table until there were only two glasses left in front of him. He poured a generous measure into each glass and then, cigar in mouth and taking a glass in each hand he turned to Concha. She smiled at him and he leaned in toward her ear so no one else would hear him.

"Ya don't haveta drink it if ya don't wanna."

"Didn't you hear me tell my father it's no fun to be a good girl?" She whispered back to him.

He shrugged and gave her a look that said: '_So what_?'.

Concha stared at him for a moment. Then she took both glasses from him and, under his astonished gaze, downed one in a single gulp. She stared into his eyes with a grin as she slammed the glass down on the table. The boys, except Racetrack, all hooted. Then, toasting him with the second glass she downed it too and slammed the glass down. The boys cheered louder and Race's mouth fell open. She laughed at him as she grabbed the bottle.

"What's the matter? Don't think you can keep up? Did you forget my father owns his own distillery?" She asked. She poured two more glasses, slid them across the table in front of Race and then looked up at him with a challenge in her eyes. For a long moment he stared at her. The girls laughed and the boys taunted him, cheering her on and backhanding each other.

"Concha, I think I'm in love wit' youse." He said and reached for the glasses.


	7. Chapter 6

"_I remember what happened after that though."_

_Her words had wiped the smile off Racetrack's face._

"_It's funny. Everything's kind of foggy from before we left, but after everything's as clear as a bell." She laughed a little, but the humor of it did not reach her eyes and her smile was brave and fixed.  
_

"_I still have nightmares about it sometimes." She whispered into the silent room._

* * *

It was very near midnight when they had finally left Medda's and made their way out onto the crowded, noisy street. As soon as they were out of sight of Irving Hall, however, the noise died and they were left with sleepy, quiet and dark tenements and boarding houses. They made their way towards the Chapparo Tenement first. Jack led them, Sarah on his arm.

"_I'm tha King a New York!_"

Jack was slurring the words to a loud song as he and Sarah weaved up the street. Racetrack was occasionally joining in Cowboy's song. He had his arm around Concha's waist and she was smiling up at him. It looked as if they had known each other for years. Blink smiled down at the girl by his side a little sheepishly and offered her his arm. Angie grinned up at him dazedly and took it.

"I had so much fun tonight." She drawled.

They had both drank quite a lot, probably about the same amount. Compared to Blink, though, Angie was tiny. She was at least six inches shorter than him and couldn't be much more than a hundred pounds. For a moment, he marveled at how she could hold her liquor.

"We should do it again some time. Maybe just you and me." She said with a twinkle in her eye.

Blink stared at her a little stupidly. She was not embarrassed. Her skin was olive and perfect, her hair was a rich chocolate brown and her lips were a bright, full red. She reminded him so much of Shina, except her eyes were a deep, dark brown. He was a little taken aback by her words. Admittedly, there had been a few times he had glanced over at her and noticed her staring at him, but they hadn't really shared much more than polite conversation the whole night. He thought perhaps, his drunken brain was playing tricks on him.

"Yea." He answered slowly.

She seemed slightly put off by his hesitancy, but smiled up at him and trotted forward to catch up with her sister and Racetrack.

"Blink!" The whisper was admonishing and urgent. Amy had replaced Angie by his side. It was very strange to him. They looked like they were almost the same girl, only subtle differences in their faces. He realized with a jolt, that they both but the same smile on his face.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

Mitts elbowed him in the ribs as he and Spot passed them. Both Brooklyn boys smirked at him.

"What d'ya mean?" he asked glancing back down to the girl by his side.

She looked at him like he was an idiot.

"She's a sweet girl and she's obviously quite taken with you."

Blink opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to come up with words.

"I'm afraid dat I only like tha things 'bout her dat I like 'bout youse." He whispered.

It sounded stupid, even to him, and his face split into a embarrassed grin. She did not make fun of him, but reached up and kissed his cheek as she always did.

"You're sweet." She said with just a touch of sadness in the corner of her eyes.

They had been there, but there had been something missing. Neither of them could say what it was exactly, because neither of them knew. They were friends, but that's all they would ever be.

"Give her a chance." And she pointed at him as if she were trying to intimidate him.

He smiled his usual sloppy grin at her and nodded.

"M'kay ma."

She looked slightly offended, but mollified all the same.

"Mush looks like he's giving Autumn a chance." She said a little off-handedly, looking over her shoulder.

Blink knew it was just her way of getting the last laugh, but he looked over his shoulder too. Mush and his sister were ambling slowly, several yards behind the rest of them. They were holding each other's hands and mostly staring at their feet, though every now and then, one of them would glance up at each other with a nervous sort of grin or shy smile. He sighed.

" 'ey what are youse two doin' back dere?"

They both looked up to see him stopped dead in his tracks staring at them. They exchanged a look, grinning at each other and hurried to catch up. Blink backhanded Mush across the shoulder as they caught up, but he had a sloppy grin on his face. It was even more sloppy than usual owing to the copious amounts of whiskey he had imbibed. He opened his mouth to say something that Mush was sure would embarrass him, but he was brought up short.

A loud, strangled, pained scream rent the night air. All three of them looked around. Their expressions still frozen in the playful happiness that had pervaded them all only seconds before. The Chapparo Tenement was on fire.

They ran. The wind in their faces and the sound of that terrible scream dying in their ears seemed to evaporate all traces of the alcohol left in them. They were terrified. They met a small group of people first. Neighbors, people living in nearby tenements, had come outside to see what was happening. Some of them were still in their nightclothes. They had formed a circle around the building. Out of harm's way but close enough to see the tenement as the fire licked at its wooden beams.

Mush had lost sight of Blink's shoulders in the crowd. He pushed his way through, holding Autumn's hand tightly. Just inside the circle of on-lookers stood Spot. He had his right arm clamped tightly around Angie. Her arms pinned to her sides by the strength of his grip. She was not fighting him anymore, but she leaned away from him towards the building and her face streamed with tears. Spot's eyes were narrowed and dark. His jaw was clenched and he simply stared at the building in disgust.

Racetrack had Concha's arms pinned behind her back. He was not having such an easy time as Spot. Concha struggled against him, powerfully. It had been her who had screamed. Race was whispering in her ear, but she struggled harder, her eyes rimmed with tears.

"Don't you tell me what to do, Racetrack! Let go of me!"

Amy and Sarah stood ahead, holding each others hands. In front of them, Jack and Mitts were forming a human shield. Each with a shoulder in Blink's chest, each holding one of his arms. Blink was yelling almost as loud as Concha, but his voice was almost unintelligible. Mush could make out one word.

"Katie!" He was screaming.

Mush's mouth dropped open. He let go of Autumn's hand and walked toward the building in a daze. Mitts let go of Blink and left Jack to have to struggle harder with him. He put a hand to Mush's chest, looked him in the eye and shook his head. There was no trace of the whiskey left in his serious stare.

"Youse can't go in dere, Mush."

Mush stared at Mitts. His mind knew that there was no chance. If he went into the blazing, crumbling building, they would have to bury him along with Katie, but his body reacted of its own accord. Mitts shoved him back as he moved toward the building and a powerful urge to knock Mitts to the ground and hurl himself inside rose in his chest. Mush was rather muscly; Mitts, a little wiry. Mush knew he probably had the advantage in a fight if it came down to it. For a second, he considered it.

"Look!"

He did not know where the shout had come from, but everyone looked. There, at the very top of the building was a tiny blond head, poking out from behind the railing on the roof.

"Katie!" Autumn screamed.

"Autumn!"

The little girl's voice was high and panicked. Mush disentangled himself from Mitts with one powerful shove and ran towards the front of the building. A few on-lookers gasped.

"Katie! Katie jump! Youse gonna have ta jump!" Mush shouted to her.

In the light of the fire he saw the little girl shake her head vigorously. The roof was a full two stories up. Katie barely came up to Mush's waist. He knew he was asking her to do something that seemed impossible.

"Katie! Look at me! It's me, Mush!" He yelled snatching his hat off his head and throwing it to the ground. " 'Member? I didn't let youse down before! I won't dis time! Youse gotta trust me! Youse haveta jump! Do it now!" He yelled. Blink had stopped struggling with Jack and they both ran forward to help.

To his relief, the little girl obeyed. She climbed over the railing of the roof and threw herself off the edge of the building. Mush caught her in his strong arms and Blink and Jack kept them from both tumbling to the ground. She was shaking, but unhurt and Mush hugged her close to him.

"What about my father?" Concha screamed.

Mitts looked up at her from where he had been watching since Mush had shoved him roughly to the ground.

"How many are inside?"

"Four more." She supplied immediately.

He looked back up at the building. It was too familiar. Perhaps, if the little girl had made it to the roof, maybe he could. He stood up before anyone could argue with him and threw himself into the crowd, disappearing.

"Mitts!" Amy screamed.

Spot let go of Angie and had taken one step when Amy grabbed his wrist.

"No, no please, no Spot." She begged him.

He pulled her toward him roughly and whispered in her ear.

"You can't come wit' me, but it's Mitts, I can't let him go alone." He said quickly.

"You don't have to go at all." She shouted at him.

His eyes were flashing. She was unafraid of the way they looked when he was angry by now, but she had still learned not to argue with him when his eyes did that. She could not help herself now, though. She shook her head.

"Amy, stay hea." His voice was loud and commanding. He caught Jack's eye and with a word of warning he wrenched his arm out of Amy's grip. Jack grabbed her by the shoulders as she tried to launch herself into the crowd after him.

Spot pushed his way through the, now thickening, group of on-lookers. When he hit the street at last, he looked around. Mitts was no where to be seen. To his left was a tiny alley between the next two tenements. He ducked down it. Halfway down the side of the building there was a fire escape. Looking up he could see the smoke coming from the Chapparo's.

He climbed the fire escape two steps at a time stopping only when he noticed a clothesline strung across the alley between the fire escapes of the two buildings. He pulled a man's shirt and a woman's dress off the line. Looking around, he spotted a wash barrel and dunked the clothes down in the liquid. He hoisted the sopping wet clothing over his shoulder and continued up the fire escape.

At the top he moved quickly across the roof to the next building over. The Chapparo's was not burning so badly up here yet. The fire must have started on the ground floor. The buildings were much closer on this side and Spot hoped there was someone coming to put this mess out before it spread. He could see that Mitts had already been here. A couple of wooden planks were laid out across the two or three foot gap between the two buildings. He crossed them and made for the door that led down inside.

As he moved down the steps it became more difficult to see and breathe. The smoke was thick and the heat was intense. He coughed a little and reached up to drape the sleeve of the man's wet shirt across his mouth and nose. At the top landing he found the body of a tall black man laying across the floor. Spot knelt down next to the man's head, but did not have to touch him to see if he was alive or not. The back of the man's head lay in a sickeningly deep red pool of blood. The man's eyes were still open, like two glass marbles sunk deep in his head. There was no sparkle of life left in them. Spot rolled them shut. It was not the sort of injury he had been expecting to see in a tenement fire.

He looked down over the railing of the stairs. Just visible through the smoke, he could see someone else laying at the foot of them. He was a big man and his neck lay awkwardly across his own shoulder. He had clearly fallen down the stairs. Perhaps it had not been a fall. Spot knew there was no need to inspect this man any closer either. The fire was licking up the stairs and walls. Spot was sweating and panting for breath. The smoke stung his eyes and as he stood up, there was a great splintery cracking from beneath him on the landing. He knew the floor was minutes from collapsing.

"Mitts!" Spot yelled as loudly as he could.

"Spot." Came the answering call from down the hallway accompanied by a lot of coughing.

Spot strode toward the door, but Mitts met him in the doorway. He was carrying a girl. She was wearing a plain white sleeping dress, covered in soot and dirt and her hands were the same red color as the pool underneath the black man's head. Spot couldn't really take it all in, but he draped the sopping wet woman's dress over both their heads and seized Mitts by the elbow.

"We gotta go." Spot said to Mitts and they moved together down the hall and back onto the stairs to the roof.

Spot had only just stepped onto them behind Mitts when there was another great splintery cracking. He looked back over his shoulder and watched as the second floor landing collapsed down into the first. As if in slow motion, he saw the black man's body tumble down between the wasted carpet and burning wood. He was as limp and lifeless as a rag doll and Spot felt every muscle in this body clench tightly. He turned from the gruesome sight to follow after Mitts. The air was clearer on the roof and they coughed as their lungs breathed deeply.

"Concha said there were four." Spot gasped.

"Dere's three men dead." Mitts' voice sounded rough, as if charred by the smoke.

Spot shook his head, but if all were accounted for, either dead or alive then there was no reason for them to stay any longer and it was getting dangerous.

"Let's get outta hea." He said and they headed back across the roofs.

Jack met them in the alley.

"Blink, Mush and Race are wit' tha goils." He said.

"Cowboy we gotta get outta hea. Dis wasn't just a fire. It was an attack. Dere's t'ree men dead in dere." Mitts said to Jack.

Jack nodded at the girl that Mitts was still carrying.

"And her?"

Mitts looked down at the tiny Asian girl. Her eyes fluttered open and then rammed shut again a moment later.

"She's alive." Mitts said.

"We'll meet'cha back at tha Lodging House." Jack said and disappeared down the alley.


	8. Chapter 7

"_The rest of that night is hazy for me."_

"_Hazy for everyone."_

"_I still try not to think about it."_

"_Me too."_

"_Ya fadda would be proud a youse."_

"_I know. I just wish he were here to tell me so."_

* * *

It had taken Jack a few minutes to locate someone he knew. Mush had nearly knocked into him as he had pushed his way through the crowd. Sarah and Amy were with him. Jack told them in an undertone what Mitts had said and told them to meet him back at the Lodging House.

Jack had taken Sarah home first. Pulling her to the doorstep, he held her close to him and kissed her. With everything that had happened tonight, it made what he did have seem even more precious to him.

"Why do such awful things happen to such good people, Jack?" Her wide soft brown eyes were pained.

"Jus' tha way life is hea in New York. I swear, one day, we'll leave dis place." He didn't know what made him say it, but in his mind, the city was inevitably linked to crime, dirt and fear.

"Don't think about it. Dey'll be okay." He reassured her as she gave him a last sad look and disappeared in the door.

Even stopping to take Sarah home, it seemed as if he had beaten everyone back to the Lodging House. There were a few boys that hadn't gone to Medda's in the bunk room. It seemed relatively quiet in here though, as if nothing had happened. For just a second he sighed and let his guard down trying to clear his head. Then Crutchy stumped up to him.

"What's Spot doin' hea? He's got some goil and it ain't Shina." Crutchy pointed towards the washroom.

Jack hurtled off in the direction of Crutchy's finger. Spot was leaning against the door of one of the bathroom stalls. Mitts was working a pump and wetting a rag to hand to a dirty looking girl who was sitting, but slumped on the counter beside him. All three of them looked up at him.

"Amy?" Spot asked. His voice was raw and he coughed slightly as his spoke.

"Wit' Mush and tha othas. Dey're on dey're way." He answered.

"What's goin' on Jacky-boy?" Spot asked, as if he were the only outsider of some sick inside joke. Jack merely shrugged.

"Dunno Spot. All's I know is, tha girls we were wit' tonight all lived dere and now tha place is nothin' but ashes." Jack said matter-of-factly. The girl on the counter gasped and looked up at Jack.

"Sorry." He said and meant it.

There was the noise of several pairs of feet on the stairs and Jack heard Crutchy's voice again.

"In dere."

Concha was the first around the washroom door, Angie on her heels. Concha's eyes swept the scene and landed on Megumi.

"Meg." She cried desperately. "My father."

Racetrack had followed and put his arms around Concha as all of them watched Meg shake her head solemnly. Concha did not cry, nor did Angie. Both of them looked stunned.

"Your brother? And Joshua?" It was Autumn who had whispered the question. Meg seemed to flinch away and Mitts put a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Dere were t'ree men inside. All dead." He said quietly, but wanting them to know the facts.

Concha sat down heavily on the lower berth of a bunk bed. Race steered Angie down next to her and Autumn squeezed herself in between them both hugging them tightly.

"I'm taking Amy home." Spot said. "Come on, Mitts." He nodded to his friend.

Mitts had taken one step away from Meg when she reached out and grasped his wrist. All his nerves were strained and on edge after the burning building and the night's events. Pure gut reaction caused him to cover her hand with his own as if preparing to throw it off. His reaction had been subtle, but lightning quick and she shrunk from him slightly, but did not let go of his wrist.

He looked down at her confused and fear-filled almond shaped-eyes. For the space of a heartbeat he saw himself, lost and hopeless, in them. He could not bring himself to throw her hand off. So instead, he re-gripped it, putting her hand in between the palms of his. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"S'okay. Youse is safe now. I'll protect ya."

She smiled a rather quavery half-smile at him and he looked up at Spot.

"Guess I'm stayin' a while." He said.

"And I can help, remember?" Amy said grasping Spot's shoulder for a moment and then hurrying off to check Meg's skin for burns.

"Jack what are we gonna do wit' em? Dey can stay hea a while can't dey?" Blink was leaning against the wall. Katie was asleep in his arms, Mush leaning on his other shoulder.

"I dunno, Blink we've only got tha room Shina stayed in." He said pointing to Amy.

"Yea, it's no bigger than a tin can. You're not cramming five girls in there." Amy put in from the counter.

"I'll sleep on tha floor, I don't mind." Blink said quietly.

"Me too, Jack." Mush chimed in.

Mitts attempted to disengage himself from Meg, but she simply clung to his hand tighter. He spoke so that the whole room could hear him, but chose his words carefully.

"Jack, youse remember what I tol' youse? Dose t'ree men were dead before tha fire started."

Jack nodded slowly, his brain seemed sluggish as it churned through all the information, searching for a solution. His eyes fell on Spot.

"Looks like it's your toirn to repay a favor, Spot." He said.

Spot stared at him, blankly.

"Last time, youse was payin' me back for a favor." He said, emphasizing his words by pointing at Jack and then jerking his thumb at himself. "And I only brought you one goil."

"Yea, but she was nothin' but trouble." Jack said with a small grin, looking at Amy.

Amy said nothing but shook her head.

"Anyways, it's your toirn, Spot."

Spot's eyebrows traveled further up his forehead.

"Ya want me ta put five goils in a warehouse wit' my forty-some boys?"

Jack clapped his hands together, nodded, and pointed at Spot as though there was nothing unusual about what he was asking and that he was merely glad Spot had finally caught on. Spot brought a fist to his brow, closing his eyes for a split second. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his cheek through the sweat and soot, leaving a streak there.

"No way, Cowboy." He said firmly.

Jack opened his mouth to argue but Amy beat him to it. She walked up between the two of them with her eyes on Spot.

"It's not safe for them here and they have nowhere else to go." She said to him and then she turned to look at Jack. "Until we find out what happened, they can come with us."

She turned and walked away, back towards Meg and Mitts. She had covered what would have been the next ten minutes of whispered argument between Jack and Spot in two short sentences. Spot watched her go with an incredulous glare. Jack stared at Spot with his eyebrows raised. He knew that it was settled because Spot denied Amy nothing, but he also knew Spot would have his word about it.

Behind him, Jack heard Mush backhand Blink and whisper: "I know dat tone, it jus' usually comes from Spot". Jack grinned and Spot glowered at all three of them.

"I still don't like it Jacky-boy."


	9. Chapter 8

"_Youse remember tha trolley ride, Katie?" Blink asked his sister over his shoulder. Mostly to break the nasty silence in the room._

"_I'd never been across the bridge on a trolley." She whispered._

"_Come ta think of it, me either." Blink shrugged._

* * *

Mitts awoke to a gentle tapping of his shoulder. He sat bolt upright and stared into a single blue eye that looked half startled and half amused.

"Blink, youse scared tha shit outta me." He gasped and Blink chuckled but motioned for him to keep his voice down.

Mitts looked around. They had spent the night at the Manhattan Lodging House, against Spot's better judgment. Mitts had fallen asleep on the floor. On the opposite wall from him, he could see Autumn. Her arms were wrapped tightly around Katie and they were both still sleeping soundly. To his left, in the bed slightly above him was Meg. She, too, was still asleep on her stomach. Her arm hung over the side of the bed, her fingertips just brushing the ground. He had the impression that he had fallen asleep holding her hand, though he couldn't really recall it. Blink was sitting on the bed to his right, fully dressed and tired looking, but alert. He leaned in towards Mitts.

"Spot left early. Took Amy, Concha and Angie wit' him. Youse supposed to bring Meg, Autumn and Katie when youse get up. I'ma come wit' youse." He said, relaying facts.

Mitts nodded and got to his feet. The bunk room was completely empty besides the five of them. Mitts wondered if the Manhattan Newsies had been quiet when they had gotten up, or if he had simply been so tired he hadn't heard it. He wandered into the wash room and splashed cold water on his face. His head felt a little clearer now.

He had fallen asleep fully clothed and he marveled for a moment at just how many layers of clothes he was wearing. His brain registered being at Medda's last night and he sighed as he removed his vest, undid the top few buttons on his shirt and stripped his suspenders off. Wearing an undershirt and pants was a little more his style. He had worn a coat last night too and it still lay on the counter where he had left it, his hat on top.

His mind went back over the events of last night. His brain always worked this way after something big happened. It filtered out all the emotion and left him with facts. It was his way of dealing with important things; his way of staying calm and cool. He stuffed his shirt and vest inside the coat and pulled his suspenders back up over his shoulders. He palmed his hat firmly on his head, picked up his jacket and moved back toward the bunk room. Blink was leaning over Autumn and Katie. The two girls were stirring sleepily. His eyes fell on Meg. He paced to the side of her bed and leaned down to shake her gently. She awoke with a slight gasp and large round eyes, much the way he had.

"Easy. It's me, Mitts."

Her eyes relaxed back into their natural almond-shape and she blinked at him a few times before sitting up in bed.

"Come on, we gotta go. We's takin' youse ta Brooklyn." He told her.

Without a word, she stood up, rubbing her eyes. She was still wearing her dirty white sleeping dress and Mitts extracted his own shirt and handed it to her. She took it from him with something that resembled a smile, but still no words. Autumn and Katie were awake now and Blink shrugged at him as the females went to use the wash room. They headed down the stairs together and out into the street.

"Be back in a minute." He told Blink and left him standing on the Lodging House steps to await the girls.

It took him only a minute or two to find a mark. A richly dressed man in a suit and bowler hat was an easy target for Mitts' honed skills. He pulled his hat low over his face and walked quickly, brushing lightly against the man as he passed and uttering a hasty apology. He even saw the man glance quickly in his direction and nod at him as Mitts' light fingers relieved him of his wallet. At the end of the street he ducked into an alley and started back in the direction he had come, extracting a few bills from the man's wallet and tossing it aside as he went. Blink looked at him questioningly as he arrived back at the Lodging House just five minutes later.

"Where'd youse run off ta?" He asked. Mitts shrugged.

"Just borrowin' some trolley fare." He said and he dug in his pocket and handed Blink a couple of the bills.

Blink's eyebrow furrowed as he took the money from Mitts, but he was well aware of the reason for Mitts' nickname.

The girls appeared in the doorway a moment later. Katie still seemed to be sleeping as she walked and Blink caught her up in his arms and hoisting her high, planted her on top of his shoulders. Autumn had braided her hair and looked awake and alert. Meg was still wearing her sleeping dress, but she had donned Mitts' shirt on top of it. It was too big for her, the tails of the shirt hung almost to her knees and she had rolled up the sleeves. Mitts smiled a little at the sight. Catching his eye, she walked straight over to him and caught his hand in both of hers. For just a moment, she seemed as young as Katie, as her child-like impulse betrayed her age. Mitts shrugged and clasped her hand.

They left immediately and boarded a trolley a few streets away. Katie was awake now, smiling and pointing at everything as New York flashed past the trolley. Blink had to keep a firm grip on her shoulders to keep her from falling out of the trolley's open air windows. Mitts found himself marveling at the resiliency of childhood. Meg sat silently, staring out at the city. Mitts watched her. He couldn't help but notice that he still hadn't heard her say a word.

"Hey what's that?" Katie asked Blink, pointing enthusiastically ahead of them.

Mitts looked up too. He could just see the metal cables and huge stone arches of the familiar bridge, far in the distance. The warehouse on the docks was not far from it at all. For him, it always felt like a sight that welcomed him home.

"Dat's the Brooklyn Bridge, Katie." Blink told her.

Beside him, Mitts felt Meg flinch. He looked over at her. She sat right back in her seat and stared down at her shoes. He shrugged it off. Perhaps, she was afraid of heights. As they rumbled over the beginning of the bridge he felt her hand tighten around his.

"S'matta?" He whispered to her. She did not respond or look up from the floor.

The trolley dropped them a short walking distance from the warehouse. Mitts walked, one hand on his jacket, slung over his shoulder, and one in Meg's. The warehouse was quiet. Most of the boys were gone for the day. Spot met them on the pier. He and Spot communicated silently for a moment that everyone was here and unharmed.

"Hey, listen, I tol' dem dey could put up where youse usually do." He said with an apologetic grin. "It's sorta private."

"It's not a problem." Mitts responded.

He rolled open the warehouse door and led them across the floor to the very back of the building. The stairs to Spot's office-turned-bedroom were here. Underneath them, Mitts had put up a couple of sections of thick canvas sheets. They blocked off a corner of the room from sight. It was somewhat spacious and private, filled with things he had either stolen or bought with stolen money. Spot had rolled a couple of bunk beds inside and Angie and Concha were already there, chatting softly with Amy. Angie got to her feet to hug Meg and Meg let go of Mitts' hand to hug her back. Taking advantage of her distraction, Mitts tossed his suit coat into a corner and ducked back outside the canvas. Blink had let Katie down and they passed him in the door. Mitts stopped Autumn as she followed with a slight pressure to her arm.

"She does speak English, don't she?" He whispered to her. Autumn nodded, confusedly.

"Fluently. Bit of an accent, but yeah. Why?" She whispered back.

"She ain't said one word to me yet." He said. "Keep and eye on her for me, will youse?"


	10. Chapter 9

"_I think those two had a little something goin' on." Mush said with raised eyebrows. He elbowed Blink as he said it and the two of them nodded to each other with knowing grins._

"_I don't think so." Amy put in at once and the rest of the girls nodded._

"_I think he took the place of her brother." Angie said softly._

_Blink reached around past Amy and hit Spot on the shoulder._

"_What do youse say, Spot?"_

_He considered a second and then shook his head with a grin._

"_I think it was a little of both."_

* * *

Mitts, exiled from his room, was spending most of his time on the roof. It was pleasant place, cool when the sun was down and he could smell the water and hear the waves. There was an old scaffolding, remnant of the days when the warehouse had been used for loading and unloading goods. He had set up a hammock to hang from it and he lay in it now, staring out over the water and finishing his bottle of Dewar's. He hadn't just stolen two bottles, he had stolen a case. He had brought the whole thing up to the roof with him, intending on leaving his cares behind him for a little while. The fire had rattled him. It struck a chord too close to his heart. His parents had died in a fire when he was eight. If he had been the boy then, that he was now, perhaps he would have done something instead of just cry and watch it burn.

A noise behind him made him look over his shoulder. He had expected to see Spot or one of the other boys. What he hadn't expected was a girl in a white dress and an overlarge man's shirt. He wasn't sure why he hadn't expected her, but it was a bit of a surprise all the same. She did not greet him or, in fact, say anything, but he was sort of used to it by now. He didn't know what was up with her. Sure, he had saved her from a burning building, but that didn't seem to warrant this kind of fanatic adoration.

She followed him around almost everywhere when he was at the warehouse. He would emerge from the wash room or Spot's room and look up to see her half-hidden behind a nearby column or leaned against a wall. He would saunter across the warehouse floor or the pier outside and notice her almond-shaped eyes following him. His alcohol-soddened brain recalled the time Bit had followed Spot around until Spot had cracked. '_That prolly won't happen though_' he mused. It was not as if he disliked her company. There was little to dislike about this girl at all. She was silent and kept out of the way. It was as if she were a ghost, floating by his side. There, but not really there at all.

"Wanna sit down?" He asked, shifting in the hammock and pulling his legs to one side to allow her space to sit next to him.

She sat. As usual, she didn't talk, but merely stared out at the water as he had been doing. As was his usual, he found himself talking. Mostly because she did not.

"Glad youse came ta help. I gotta sit hea and make sure all of dis water don't move." And he swept his arm out towards the view of the water. He could only see the side of her face, but he saw her cheek shift slightly as if she had cracked a tiny grin.

"Want some?" He asked, gently prodding her shoulder with the nearly-empty bottle.

He had expected her to refuse, but surprisingly, she seized the bottle and drained it. He raised his eyebrows but sat back in his hammock, staring at her. There seemed to be a lot about this girl he did not know, but as she refused to talk, it was hard to learn much. She leaned forward and set the bottle on a horizontal support beam hanging off over the edge of the roof. As she leaned out, something poked him in the back of his mind. His drunken brain wasn't working very quickly though, and it took him a minute to riddle it out.

"So youse ain't afraid a heights. What scares ya 'bout tha bridge den?"

She jumped as if frightened by the very mention of it. He knew she wasn't going to answer him and after a minute, just for something to do, he fished his slingshot and a marble out of his pocket and lined up a shot. He couldn't help himself, really. It was a perfect target. She watched him interestedly as he sent the marble neatly through the center of the bottle. It shattered and sent shards of glass raining down into the water below.

"Youse wanna try?" He asked holding the slingshot out to her. She shook her head, but he leaned forward and stuffed it into her hand. He fished another marble out of his pocket and handed it to her as well.

"Try and hit dat bottle again." He pointed to it and she tried. She missed, and he chuckled.

"Dat marble was bad, not a good shoota. Here try dis one." He handed her another and then leaned forward to straighten out her arm and help her position the marble right up by her eye.

"Now youse can see what'cha aimin' at." He said and nodded to her.

She spent a second or two lining up her shot. A second after she released the marble there was a crack of glass on glass as the marble hit it's mark. Her face actually lit with a smile. For a second, Mitts' brain registered how different she looked when she smiled. Her almond-eyes turned up at the corners and her high cheek bones lifted.

"See, nice shootin'!" He said leaning back in the hammock again.

"So, Meg, youse mind if I coill youse Meg?"

Silence, which he took to mean no.

"Autumn says you speak poirfect English, but youse ain't said a word to me, or anyone else far as I can tell. How come?"

She had turned her face out towards the water again. He hadn't really expected it to be that easy. He had cracked tougher shells in his days, though, and he knew that deep down, she wanted to talk. He wasn't quite sure what was egging him on. Maybe the alcohol, maybe her sad little eyes.

"Well, even though I talk a lot. I'd listen if youse wanted ta talk for a while."

There was more silence. It wasn't really awkward silence, just the lack of speech. He leaned down and pulled another bottle from the crate and set to opening it.

"I know dat right now, youse feel like youse ain't got nothin'. I felt dat way when my parents died. I didn't have a home. Didn't think I had anyone who cared 'bout me."

She said nothing, but he could tell she was listening.

"It doesn't ever really go away." He said popping the bottle open at last and taking a swig. "But ya find things dat make ya happy. Things dat make youse smile for just a moment."

He leaned forward and handed her the bottle.

"I think dat's what life is. A whole bunch of moments, ya know? And youse find things dat make youse smile, like spendin' time wit' someone youse like ta be around."

He saw the faintest whisper of pink tinge her ears as he said it and she raised the bottle to her lips for something to do.

"Or like hittin' a bottle wit' a slingshot."

He saw her face crack a small grin as she lowered the bottle again. It was relieving to see her smile. Perhaps she was not so far out of reach yet. He leaned back and picked up another bottle for himself.

"And youse just do dose things ova and ova, see? And youse fill up ya moments wit' smiles."

For a second, she stared at him. He thought she might be about to laugh at him. He was rather drunk, after all. Maybe it all seemed a bit sappy to her. Then she smiled.

"Mmmhrmm." She said.

She hadn't even moved her lips, but she had certainly just communicated to him with her voice. It was more than just a half-smile or a nod. He smiled back at her and clasped his hands behind his head. It wasn't much, but it was a start.


	11. Chapter 10

"_He came to 'hattan one mornin' sometime after tha fire. Wanted to know all about Luis." Racetrack said._

"_Yea, we told him everythin' we knew at tha time." Mush agreed._

"_Wasn't much." Blink added._

"_Was plenty for Mitts, I'm sure." Spot grinned._

* * *

The sun, coming up over the horizon lit the sky and woke Mitts like someone tapping on his eyelids. Surprisingly enough, Meg was still curled in the bottom of his hammock with him, down by his feet. He grinned a little as he removed a half-empty bottle of Dewar's from her arm. She stirred a little as he shifted out of the hammock, but merely rolled into the center of it and slept on. He wanted to go back to sleep too, but today he had work to do.

It was a long walk to Manhattan, but he had made the trip many times. The worst part was the bridge. It felt like an eternity when you crossed it on foot. He made it to Park Row in time to hear the circulation bell. The Manhattan Newsies were there in full force, but he only desired the company of a few of them so he hung back and found a nearby building to lean against and wait.

They left the gates in a group, which was lucky. Mitts spied the familiar backs of Mush, Blink and Race, each with a stack of papers. He gave a long, low whistle. It was not a signal they were used to hearing like Mitts was, but Racetrack looked around just the same. He punched Blink on the shoulder and turned around to head towards Mitts. Blink backhanded Mush and they followed.

"Heya Mitts. What'chu doin' on dis side a tha Bridge?" Race asked cheerfully as they joined him under the awning of the building.

"Need a lead, 'Track." Mitts said matter-of-factly. "Dere's five goils in Spot's warehouse and no reason why yet."

All three of the boys faces in front of him hardened.

" 'fraid we ain't got much, Mitts." Mush said politely with a grin. It was clear that he felt bad for shoving Mitts to the ground the other night. Mitts didn't blame him. He spit in his hand and held it out to Mush who copied him.

"Well, I know less den youse. So tell me anythin' youse know."

"The blonds are me sistas." Blink piped up at once. "Didn't know dey was livin' hea 'til-" He paused, thinking, " 'bout a month ago."

"Yea, dat's how we met Concha and Angie." Race added, waving his cigar.

"Dey're fatha owned tha joint. Tha Chapparo Tenement. Well, youse was dere." Mush said. Mitts nodded and Mush continued. "He had five boarders plus his daughters. Meg, her brother and a man named Joshua."

Mitts blinked. He remembered their faces vividly in death, but none of it answered any questions yet.

"Who'd wanna bump off a tenement filled with kids though?" Mitts asked, coming straight to the heart of the matter. Race backhanded Mush.

"We was talkin' 'bout dat last night. Whoever did it musta had some beef wit' Luis, tha father. Only thing we could think of was he said he had a distillery in tha basement. He let us try some a his rum. Good shit, dat."

"Yea, and Bowery and Pell, it's right on tha border, ya know?" Mush said.

Mitts stared at them.

"The Five Points?"

They nodded solemnly. The Five Points gang were one of the biggest in New York. They thrived off gambling, prostitution and murder. Mitts did not fancy his chances if that was truly what he was up against.

"Whoa, hold on." Blink put in. "Luis, didn't seem tha type, ya know, he wasn't no gangster."

Race and Mush nodded. Mitts saw the truth of Blink's affirmation in their eyes. It wasn't much to go on, but it was a lead. He spit shook with each of the three boys and disappeared.

"Youse guys really think Luis was a Five Pointa?" Blink asked, scratching his head and watching Mitts go. Race merely shrugged and clapped Blink on the shoulder as he turned back to the streets.

"I dunno." Mush said to Blink. "Maybe, maybe not. I mean, we really didn't know him, did we?"

Mitts found himself drawn to tenement itself. Someone had, indeed, shown up to put the fire out. It was a broken mess of charred support beams and burned and broken objects that had once been a home. Mitts did not hang around to look. It, once again, struck a chord to close to his heart.

On the corner of Pell and Bowery there was a butcher shop. Mitts shrugged and rolled the dice. Inside was small and smelled strongly of meat, but the place was clean and respectable. A short Italian man was behind the counter. Mitts strode up to it and the man turned, wiping his hands on his apron.

"Mornin'." He said genially. "Got beef and pork ten cents a pound. Bacon for twelve."

Mitts smiled. This was the part he really loved. He was a newsie, sure, and he hawked the occasional headline, but what he was really good at was relieving people of things. Information, wallets, pocket watches; he was a good thief and scout. Spot always said he was the best and it was true. He was a chameleon, brown hair and eyes, a handsome face, but not one that was remarkable. He could blend in when he wanted to, stand out when he wanted, make himself seem older or younger. It all came from watching people closely. He knew how to make them give him what he wanted. Now, he drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.

"Actually, I'm lookin' for a guy named Chapparo. I was at dis huge blow-out tha otha night and a pal a mine gave me dis stuff. Blew my mind. Said a guy named Chapparo made it and sold it, somewhere around hea."

"Yea, I heard a him." The man answered, "Lived just down Pell. He was a good man."

"Was?" Mitts faked surprised interest.

"Place a his burned down four or five nights ago. Rumor has it, he's dead."

Mitts put on a disappointed frown.

"Shame. Was hopin' to get me hands on some more a his rum. Good shit, dat."

The shop owner laughed a gut-shaking chuckle, then leaned forward across his counter. Mitts grinned. The last bit of information he needed was coming. People always held it for last and Mitts was good as coaxing it out.

"Well, listen, I neva touch the stuff meself, but I know the guy up at Riven's stuss hall, ya know, just up on Bowery. He used ta buy that stuff in bulk from Chapparo. Prolly still has some, but it'll cost ya."

Mitts' face lit up with true enthusiasm. He had his next lead. He thanked the man generously and ordered a pound of bacon from him. Mitts had no idea what he was going to do with it, but thought Amy might cook something up. While the butcher wrapped the meat up, he dropped one more kernel Mitts had not been expecting.

"I heard the owner of that Riven's place, name's Simmonds. Heard he's a Five Pointa. Heard tha man himself, Paul Kelly, ya know. He frequents that place. So, you just be careful son. Get'cha rum and get'cha self back outta there. You don't wanna be mixed up with them Five Pointas."

Mitts nodded, thanked the man again and left the shop, bacon under his arm. It was too early in the day for anything or anyone important to be at a stuss hall, but he strolled away along Bowery to find it anyways. It was a two-story, sprawling building. It looked dirty and cheap. A place to drink, play cards and meet prostitutes. He did not really want to go in, but knew he'd have to eventually. He decided to put it off for now and head back toward Brooklyn. He'd come back at night. There was nothing to do but wait it out, plus he thought he might look odd with a pound of bacon under his arm.

A carriage had just pulled up to the hall and a conservatively dressed men stepped out onto the pavement. Pretending he hadn't noticed, Mitts turned swiftly in an about face and collided directly with the man. His bacon, still wrapped in butcher paper, fell to the ground. Mitts had put up a hand just at the last second to keep him from knocking heads with the man and he clung to the lapel of the man's suit jacket to keep from falling over.

"I'm sorry, sir, really." Mitts made his voice a little higher pitched and he slumped his shoulders and his back, making himself seem slightly smaller. He let go of the man at once and backed away a few paces, retrieving his bacon from the ground. The man huffed a little with a slight frown, but nodded to Mitts and smoothed the front of his suit jacket with both hands.

"Sorry, sir." Mitts called after the man's retreating back as he entered the hall.

As Mitts set off down the pavement he chuckled to himself. It was almost too easy. The man had kept his wallet in the front breast pocket of his jacket. It was always a little riskier to steal from literally under a man's nose. The target always got a decent look at a thief that dared to try it and it was difficult to keep their focus from their jacket. Mitts found it useful to have something in his hands to drop when he did it. A trick he had actually picked up from Spot. Mitts thanked himself, mentally, for buying the bacon. He had probably tripled what it had cost him, at least. His stomach grumbled and he quickened his pace, heading home.


	12. Chapter 11

"_Dat was tha same day I came to take youse to lunch, 'member?" Mush said, his eyes on Autumn. She nodded and smiled._

"_We talked 'bout rebuildin' dis place." His eyes scanned the room happily, proud of their work._

* * *

Autumn sighed and leaned back on her heels rubbing her eyes. She was tired. She had to get up very early to make it all the way from Brooklyn to Manhattan for her job every morning. Today she was custom fitting a beautiful ball gown for an attractive middle-aged woman. The shop where she worked was somewhat upper-class. It was not in one of the cleanest neighborhoods, but it was renown for it's work. Mainly, Autumn's work.

She had the woman on a stool and she was pinning the bottom hem of the dress to the right length. The tinkle of the bell at the front of the shop rang and she looked up. Mush had stepped into the store alone. The owner of the store had bustled up to him, but he had pointed at Autumn and she got to her feet. Leaving the woman on the stool to admire her reflection in the full length mirror she moved toward him. He had a big grin plastered on his face. It was no wonder this boy was such good friends with Blink. The similarities between them were uncanny. Though, Mush was a little more quiet.

"Heya." He said as she stopped in front of him.

"How'd you know where to find me?" She asked incredulously.

"Oh, I followed youse ta woirk." He said, his ears turning slightly pink.

She laughed.

"Actually, I followed youse yesterday, but I couldn't make myself come in." He added his ears turning even deeper red.

"Why not?" There was a smile on her face now, but he waved her question aside.

"So, do youse get a lunch break?"

"12:30." She nodded.

"Mkay, I'll be back." He said and set the shop bell tinkling again.

Her work seemed a little easier that day, the customers friendlier and the time flew by. Mush had been waiting for her outside the building at 12:30.

"How's Katie?" He had piped up at once when she joined him.

"She misses you. Meg's with her at the warehouse." Autumn answered.

Mush smiled, but then it disappeared at the mention of Meg's name.

"How's Meg?" His voice had lowered, a little more concerned now.

Autumn shook her head.

"She won't talk." She bit her lip. "She gets up everyday and she listens and smiles sometimes, but she won't speak."

Mush's eyebrows knit as she relayed this somewhat unsettling news.

"She's been spending a lot of time with Mitts, though. He makes her smile a lot, I've noticed."

"Mitts is a good guy. He'll treat her right." Mush said as he held open the door of a tiny cafe for her.

"I don't think it's like that. A lot of times they just sit in silence together, and they don't ever do much more than hold hands." Autumn reasoned as they sat themselves down at a table near the window.

"If he makes her smile-" He said with a shrug.

"Yeah. Me and the other girls don't think there's any harm in it either way."

"How 'bout Angie and Concha?" Mush asked, trying to keep the conversation rolling.

"You know them. They loved their father, but they're-"

"Tough." Mush supplied.

"I think Concha took it harder actually." Autumn said. "She's covering it up by being even more loud and obnoxious lately. Some of the Brooklyn boys absolutely love her. She gave one of them a black eye. I think Racetrack would be jealous." She said with a grin.

"Maybe I should tell him." Mush threatened with an equal grin.

"Don't."

There was a loud bang on the window behind him. Standing outside and staring at them both with huge grins were Jack and Racetrack. Race pointed back and forth between them for a second and they saw his shoulders shake with laughter they could not hear. Autumn waved and Jack backhanded Race and pulled him on.

"Dat's it. I'm gonna tell him." Mush said watching their backs as they walked away. "I just hope I get ta soak dat bum before Kid soaks me."

"Why would Kid soak you?" Autumn asked indignantly.

" 'Cause youse his sista and I'm-" He stopped short at the look she was giving him. Sort of an indignant but curious stare. He felt his ears burn.

"He may be my twin, but I'm allowed to make my own choices. I think we should have lunch everyday." She said a little flippantly.

Mush smiled at her. They laughed.

"So what 'bout youse? Youse alright?" He asked her when their laughter had died.

"I'm fine. My family is still whole. Or at least the parts I care about." She smiled at him. "Thanks to you, again."

He felt his ears go red again and dropped her gaze.

"It's sad though. I wish we could go back to the place. I wonder if-" She trailed away her eyes looking a little far off.

"What?" He asked her curiously.

"Joshua worked for some kind of construction company. I wonder if they would help. And I'm just finishing this beautiful dress. I'm going to get a big commission on it." Autumn said a little dreamily.

"Some of the boys would help, I'm sure." Mush said enthusiastically.

She shrugged at him.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to find out." She said.

The idea had captivated Mush and he had asked her a few pointed questions about exactly where Joshua worked. She hadn't had much information, but after dropping her back off at work and promising he would meet her again tomorrow for lunch he had shot off down the streets. The tunnel itself was not a difficult thing to find. It was a gigantic operation and it was crawling with people. He had talked to the foreman himself. The man was big and muscular, went by the name Johns and looked heart-broken upon hearing the news of Joshua.

"He was one a me best." Johns had said. "Wondered why he didn't show up. Read about dat fire in the pape's, didn't know he lived dere, though."

Mush had gone on to tell him about the owner of the house, Luis and about his surviving daughters.

"And dere's t'ree other goils dat lived dere too. And now dey ain't got a place ta live. We wanna rebuild tha place. But we dunno how."

Johns face had broken into a wide grin.

"Dat, I can help wit'." He said heartily and shook hands with Mush. "I'll help wit' me own two hands, least I can do for Joshua's memory is to sweat a little. Prolly some a tha other guy'll feel tha same."


	13. Chapter 12

_Everyone had smiled reminiscently at their own memories of re-building the tenement. It had given them all a common goal for a while. Johns still stopped by once or twice a month for dinner. In the silence that followed they all turned their heads one by one to stare at Spot expectantly._

"_So what happened ta Mitts?" Race prompted._

"_I dunno." Spot said with a shake of his head. "Mitts always woirked alone when he was followin' a lead. He never tol' me exactly what happened."_

* * *

Riven's stuss hall was noisier, rowdier and dirtier than Irving Hall. The doors flew open as Mitts approached and two big, muscular looking men literally hurled a third man from the premise. He landed in a puddle of muddy water on the street. No one really noticed the brown-haired boy enter the hall and make for the bar.

The place was mostly filled with stuss tables. It was a card game, something like craps, only people placed bets on which cards would flip. It was fast-paced, easy to cheat, and people won and lost big every deck that was laid out. Most of the patrons here were Five Pointers. He could tell by the way they dressed. He could see weapons, clubs and sling-shots, brass-knuckles and even a few revolvers, tucked beneath clothing and hung from hips.

The men were dirty, smelling of tobacco and sweat. The women were flashy, but tired-looking and wrinkled. He knew they were thugs-for-hire, thieves and prostitutes. He could not help but think that in a few years, he might feel at home here and he did not like it.

Mitts was just trying to figure out what he was going to say to the bar man when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. A conservatively dressed man stood behind him. With a shock, he recognized the face of the man he had stolen from that same day. His face showed only polite indifference, though.

"I saw you here earlier. Why are you here, now?" The man asked.

"Come here often." Mitts said casually. "Like the rum."

"No, you don't." The man said quietly. "I've never seen you before today. I'd like you to come sit with me. I have a table."

The man motioned to the bartender and turned to head toward the corner of the room. Mitts found he had no time to refuse. They walked the length of the noisy room and the man motioned Mitts into the corner booth politely, and sat down across the table from him. When the bartender hurried up, he ordered them two rums. Then he turned his attention back to Mitts.

"My name is Paolo Vaccarelli, they call me Paul Kelly, and I'd like to ask you again, why you're here." He spoke softly, but was incredibly intimidating all the same.

Mitts stared at the man. Paul Kelly. He had heard that name from the butcher on Pell street. This was the main man, the head of the Five Points Gang. A gang that was known for it's aptitude for murder. Paul Kelly was the most important man among them and he knew Mitts' face after only a brief and chance encounter. Suddenly, Mitts was afraid he had jumped head-first into a pool that was too deep for him. Mitts decided he had no business lying to a gangster. He wanted to be alive tomorrow. Despite his soft voice and good manners, Mitts knew Paul Kelly was dangerous and not to be underestimated.

"A friend a mine lived at tha Chapparo Tenement." Mitts said, trying to keep the slight shivers he was feeling out of his voice.

Paul Kelly nodded curtly.

"I know the place."

"Den youse know it was burned ta tha ground a few nights ago."

"And I was sorry to hear it. Luis was a good man. Very Italian. He owned his tenement and distillery clean and clear. He sold us his rum."

Mitts swallowed. So Luis was not a gangster after all. The bartender was back with the rum and Mitts took a grateful swallow. His throat felt stuffed full of cotton.

"Good shit, dat." He head himself say and Paul laughed softly.

"Do youse know who did it?" Mitts asked baldly. Paul considered him carefully.

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"Do you have a name?"

He hesitated but spoke the truth.

"Mitts. Dey coill me Mitts."

"Why do they call you that?"

"Actually-" He hesitated again.

He was not sure if it was smart or very stupid, but he extracted Paul's wallet from inside his vest and set it on the table with shaking fingers. Paul's eyes rested on it. He obviously recognized his own wallet. He picked it up carefully and thumbed through it. Mitts had not touched it yet and he was inwardly grateful. Paul said nothing for a long moment as he tucked his wallet back in his breast pocket carefully.

"I didn't know who youse were, sir, honest." He felt for a second as if he was pleading for his life. Paul merely laughed softly.

"I didn't feel a thing. I didn't know it was gone. It seems your name is well deserved."

Mitts relaxed a fraction and breathed again.

"You seem like a smart boy." Paul said, taking a sip of his rum. "I don't know what happened at the Chapparo's, though I have my suspicions, and I do need someone who is capable of finding out. Perhaps, you'd like the job."

"Woirk for youse?" Mitts asked hesitantly.

Paul nodded.

"I need someone who isn't known to my enemies. If you agree I'll tell you more. I get the feeling you want the ones responsible to be brought to justice and perhaps, this will give you the opportunity to investigate that you were looking for."

Mitts sipped his rum and thought hard. He was good at coaxing information out of people. Good at getting people to do what he wanted them to, while making it seem like it was their idea in the first place. Paul Kelly, on the other hand, was a master. Mitts would have been stupid not to recognize it. He knew the type of '_justice_' that Paul Kelly was offering and he knew that the '_investigating_' would probably lead him straight into the heart of the gangs in Manhattan. He did not like the sound of that, but he could not deny it was a pleasing offer at face value.

"What do I owe ya if I do dis?"

Paul smiled at him. Mitts was young and smart. He reminded him a little of himself as a boy.

"I'm sure you'll make it worth my while. Now, would you like to hear the details? If not, there is the door. No one will stop you, no one will look for you." And he gestured, giving Mitts a clear out.

Mitts looked towards where he gestured. His brain told him not to get involved, to get up and leave and never look back. It told him that he was dealing with a gang, not a group of newsies. If something went wrong, they would bury him. He sighed.

"Can I think about it?"

Paul nodded slowly.

"You come back here and see me if you want the job."

He knew Mitts would be back.


	14. Chapter 13

"_You really think he went after the gang? That's so dangerous." Angie gasped._

"_Mitts liked a little danger." Amy smiled a little sadly._

"_Mitts was good. Prolly tha best boird I eva had." Spot sighed and leaned back in his chair."_

"_He could get anyone to tell him anything."_

* * *

Mitts liked it on the roof. It was peaceful and quiet up here compared to down on the floor of the warehouse. He was beginning to wonder if he should make the change permanent. Sure, sometimes it rained, he would have to figure out some kind of shelter for when that happened, but man, the view and the air were worth it.

He heard as opposed to saw her coming up the stairs. He knew it was her because it was so late. Hardly any of the boys came up here. Occasionally Spot did, to see him, but mostly they left him well alone when he was on the roof. Also, the stairs creaked terribly and anyone that came up them, he heard coming from all the way at the bottom of them. Mitts and Meg alone, had gotten into the habit of putting their feet far to one side of each stair. This way they only let out low sighs instead of loud pops. The sighs coming up the steps could only be one person.

"Where ya been? I was about to open one alone. It's hard woik ya know. Makin' sure the river don't move."

She smiled as she crossed the roof and sat down in her usual place by his feet. It was funny really, she sat there so often that Mitts did not use that area on the hammock anymore. Even when she wasn't there, he simply kept off it subconsciously.

He popped open a bottle casually and handed it to her, then reached out for the bottle they hadn't finished the night before. Tonight she laid back across his legs and stared up into the night sky. It was blue-black specked with brilliant white diamonds. The moon hung low in the sky, paled and shadowed. They both laid there, stretched out beneath the it. Content with each others company, the stillness of the sky and the sound of the waves as it crashed against the retaining walls.

"Mitts?"

He froze solid, the bottle halfway to his mouth. Her voice sounded disused and rough, but soft and melodious at the same time. It sent a tiny shiver up his back. He wasn't sure if it was because she had spoken or because she had said his name.

"I want to do something. Sitting around this place with nothing to do makes me fidgety." She had a slight accent to her words, but she spoke fluidly.

Mitts tilted his head to the side slightly so he could see her face.

"Well, what'cha got in mind? New York neva sleeps ya know."

She frowned slightly and shook her head, her almond eyes pulling together a little as her eyebrows met.

"I keep thinking, Koji is gone and I want to do something about it."

He pondered the meaning of her words. Do what?

"I've been lookin' into it, Meg." Mitts assured her. "But listen, tha men dat hit ya home, dey were members a dis gang called tha Five Points Gang. Dey're dangerous men."

She was quiet for a time, still staring up at the sky.

"I don't want the whole gang. Just one man. The man who killed my brother."

Mitts knew it was his turn to shut up and listen. He pulled out a rather bent cigarette from his pocket and lit it with a match. Breathing it in, he watched the smoke curl lazily up into the air.

"They came for Luis, I think." She said. "There were loud voices coming from down the stairs. One of them took one look at me and Koji and I guess they wanted us too. Said they didn't like immigrants that took their jobs and ruined their America. "

Mitts raised an eyebrow but didn't speak. He had heard of this so-called racial discrimination. People got off the boats everyday and poured into New York. There were people in the city that didn't like the immigrants. As far as Mitts was concerned they had all been immigrants at one time or another. His parents, themselves, had been Scottish.

"They tied him to a chair and beat him. There were at least five of them. And I heard Luis and Joshua shouting and there was a loud pop and crash and then I didn't hear them anymore."

Mitts sighed smoke and watched her carefully. There was no emotion in her voice, no tears in her eyes. Only a far off look and a tiny frown on her face. He marveled at the way she could speak about the deaths of people close to her so soon after it had happened. It was a bit detached, really. As if she either couldn't own up to the feelings, or was so far past them, they were like a distant memory.

"And one of them, he grabbed me by the neck and threw me down on the bed. He-"

Her voice finally broke. She was human after all. He had the urge to hold her, hug her close to him, or maybe just touch her, but he didn't move. He knew that anything he did might make her stop talking and he knew she needed to talk. She had gotten herself back under control now. Her voice was once again cold and steady.

"He made Koji watch. He had this long silver dagger and he said if I struggled he'd kill us both and throw us from the Brooklyn Bridge."

Mitts balked. Her words had just given him so much information he didn't know where to start. Before his brain could even begin to process it all, she spoke again.

"And Koji shouted and struggled and the man took his dagger and put it straight through his chest."

Meg stood up and walked right to the end of the roof. Mitts sat up in the hammock and watched her. She raised her bottle and took a giant measure, swallowing several times before she brought the bottle back down.

"And then someone yelled for 'Monk' and the man left. And I don't really remember much after that. I remember untying Koji and then you showed up."

Mitts nodded. He had entered the room to find her draped across the his body. There had been no help possible for him, Mitts had known that in an instant. Still, she had fought him a little as he had tried to pry her off him.

"I thought you were one of them." She said and hung her head and then turned to face him. "I was scared of you at first. But then you asked me-"

"Are youse alright?" Mitts finished for her. He remembered.

"And I think I thought you were Koji that night. It's all kind of fuzzy. He always protected me, ever since we were little."

Mitts nodded. He didn't mind. That was what he had wanted that night, was to make her feel safe. Regardless of who she thought he was, he had done that.

"It just makes me mad to think Koji is gone and that man is out there somewhere." She said suddenly.

He looked up at her, surprised. She sounded angry. Her voice trembled and she had made a swift slashing motion with her arm through the air. He didn't blame her for feeling that way, he just hadn't seen her angry yet.

"I wanna do something about it!" She said, her voice breaking again.

"Hey. We'll do something about it, I swear. But youse gotta let me do the woirk for now. I don't wanna see youse get hoirt." Mitts said.

She stared at him for a moment and then sat back down in her usual spot.

"I wanna help."

"Youse will. Youse should." He said soothingly and he stretched back out on the hammock.

There was another long silence as they stared up at the sky again, back to being content with just being there.

"Mitts?"

His back gave that same involuntary shiver and he knew, now, why it did.

"You're a lot like Koji." Her face cracked a wide smile. "But different too."

"How so?"

She did not answer him, but took another long swig from her bottle.


	15. Chapter 14

"_Dat was tha last time I seen him." Spot's voice was low._

"_I jus'- still dunno what happened."_

_They understood with a single glance at Spot how much it had bothered him to not know. Spot always knew everything. That time, though, he hadn't. He hadn't been allowed to search; hadn't been allowed to know what had happened to his best friend. _

"_Do you think he's still alive?" Autumn asked in whisper._

_Spot stared down at the table and did not answer. None of them had asked that question in six years. None of them really wanted an answer. He had been one boy, facing down the underworld of New York, and he had never come back._

* * *

Mitts awoke in his hammock alone. It was odd, the nights they drank together, she usually slept next to him, curled in a ball down by his feet. He didn't think much of it at first until he made the warehouse floor and Angie had greeted him with a smile.

"Mornin'. Where's Meg?"

"Not wit' me." Mitts had answered and watched the confusion spread over the girl's face.

"She ain't hea?" He questioned quickly.

"I thought- she'd be with you." Was her answer.

Mitts shrugged her off with a smile, but the news bothered him somewhat. Why would she leave? She had no home or job and the only people she knew in the world were here. He made a quick tour of the warehouse. He knew the place better than she and after a few short minutes surmised she was gone.

He had just seen a familiar back and wanted to catch up with Spot. Spot sauntered slowly across the warehouse floor and it was easy to fall into step next to him.

" 'ey Mitts." Spot greeted him casually.

" 'ey, Spot. Listen, Meg's disappeared and I gotta find her, but foirst I gotta tell you something."

Spot halted in his tracks and turned his whole body to face Mitts. He had just reached the warehouse door. His hand rested on the handle but he did not pull the door open. There was interested surprise written on his face.

"Look, from somethin' she said, I think I know who killed dat guy and t'rew you off tha bridge all dat time ago."

Spot's eyes were narrowed and glinting, as they always did when he was angry. His jaw had clenched and Mitts saw him absent-mindedly roll his left shoulder in it's socket. He nodded to Mitts to go on, as if he did not trust his own voice to sound reasonable and low.

"I think dat tha same people hit tha tenement dat tha goils lived in. Dey weren't afta tha goils though, dey were afta Luis. Meg said something about a guy named 'Monk' and he had a big silver dagger."

Spot's face had darkened. Mitts had never seen him look so mean or dangerous. Spot, still staring at Mitts, wrenched the warehouse door open. He looked ready to set out immediately, to find this 'Monk'. Mitts sidestepped into the doorway in front of Spot and grabbed him by the collar.

"Hol' on, Spot." He said quietly, not wishing to re-direct Spot's anger towards himself. However, he knew he had to stop his friend.

Spot threw off Mitts' hand with a brutal swipe of his own. Mitts had known it would happen and he had taken a step forward in the same instant so that he and Spot were now chest to chest, barely inches apart. A few of the other Newsies had looked up from what they had been doing to stare at Mitts and Spot.

"Get outta my way, Mitts." Spot growled. Mitts shook his head, readying himself for the blows he knew would come.

"Spot, he's a Five Pointa." Mitts said quietly. "Dey ain't Newsboys, alrigh'? Deys a gang. Dey ain't gonna soak youse. Dey gonna kill youse."

"I don't care." Spot spat, viciously, but quietly.

"Sure ya do!" Mitts shouted at him. "What 'bout Amy? What's she gonna do if ya dead? And ya Newsies? What 'bout us? Ya think I can take care a dese guys?" Mitts pointed. He saw Spot's head turn slightly and look out of the corner of his eye.

Most of the Brooklyn Newsies were alert now. Some standing, apparently ready to break up a fist fight. Others, were simply listening intently. None of them knew what Mitts had said to Spot to make him so angry. They were usually close friends. None of them spoke a word. Spot's eyes were back on Mitts. He stared at him for so long that Mitts felt as if time stood still. Then Spot took a step back from him. Mitts remembered he hadn't taken a breath in a long time and sighed, breathing heavily through his nose.

"Listen ta me, Spot. I got an in. I got a lead. I'm gonna follow it and I'm gonna find dis guy." He refrained from saying the last part of the sentence that automatically formed in his head. '_And kill him'._

"But youse gotta leave dis one ta me. I gotta go in deep. So youse don't know me, ain't see me and neva hoird a me. Don't do anythin' stupid."

Spot's eyes flashed and Mitts knew he had made a mistake in his choice of words, but it couldn't be helped. He had to make sure Spot knew what was at stake.

"Meg is out dere somewhere. I dunno yet, but I just got dis feelin'. I gotta make sure she's safe before anythin' else happens."

Just then, Amy rounded the corner of the warehouse door. She was obviously surprised to find them both standing just inside. She had been smiling and carrying a bag of groceries, but she was brought to a sudden halt by the look on both their faces. Mitts grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards them.

"What if it was Amy?"

Spot narrowed his eyes, but nodded once. Mitts' face showed visible relief. Amy's, nothing but confusion.

"What are ya gonna do?" Spot asked quietly.

Mitts hadn't really thought that far yet. He looked at Spot and then Amy. Their faces looked serious. Amy's was a little worried.

"I'll be back in a couple of days." He said with a grin. "Don't look so serious. And don't do anything stupid." He added pointing a finger at Spot.

"Don't let him do anything stupid?" He appealed to Amy, who looked even more lost.

'_A couple a days_' as Mitts had so casually thrown out, had turned into a week. Spot was worried, and he never once had to worry about Mitts before. Amy had made him promise not to send any of his other birdies after Mitts. Spot didn't flinch as he had made that promise. It was an easy one to keep. There was no way he was going to send any of his boys into that kind of danger. However, he had never promised anything about himself. As Spot crossed the roofs of the closely packed Lower East Side tenements he wondered whether or not Amy realized she had left him a loophole. He decided, with a wry smile, that she knew.

He did not know what he was looking for yet. He just had a feeling that this was the place he should be. His feet seemed to always have better hunches than his brain and he usually let them lead him. Loud drunken singing rent the air and Spot crossed the roof to look down into the streets below.

There were two men on the pavement. One was tall, thin and obviously drunk. The other was Mitts. He was weaving and waving a bottle through the air in time with his companions crude song. As he watched them, he realized this had to be Monk. He saw no trace of a silver dagger, but he would recognize that voice anywhere. He absent-mindedly rolled his shoulder is it's socket. Blood boiled in his neck and the back of his eyes, but Mitts' words floated across his mind. '_Don't do anythin' stupid_'.

Spot narrowed his eyes as he watched them weave down the street and turn the corner. His friend seemed healthy, whole and in good enough spirits to be drunk. He did not follow them, but took out a cigarette and lit it. His thoughts raced. He had no idea what was going on and he hated that feeling. A low voice behind him actually made him jump.

"I told youse not ta do anythin' stupid."

He smiled. Damn, Mitts was good. He probably also knew how close Spot had been to vaulting off the roof after them.

"Youse also told me a couple a days." Spot accused and Mitts smirked and joined him against the railing.

"I was wrong." Mitts admitted and Spot noticed Mitts was not in the least bit drunk.

"Dat guy I was wit', name's Monk Eastman. Runs tha Eastman Gang."

Spot's eyes hardened a little as Mitts confirmed his guess.

"Youse told me Monk was a Five Pointa."

"Wrong 'bout dat too."

"Tha Eastman gang owns tha area east a Bowery. Tha Five Pointas are from west of it. Dey're like us and Queens, fightin' ova territory all tha time. Tha Chapparo's just got caught in tha middle. Had somethin' both gangs wanted." Mitts took a deep breath and glanced sideways at Spot.

"Dat's him, Spot. I stole his gun, and I seen tha dagger."

Spot's eyes flashed, but Mitts forestalled an angry outburst.

"Only whispers about Meg still. I still gotta find her and get her outta hea, and den I think I can bring both gangs down. Been stirring up trouble, ya know? Bound to come to a head soon."

Spot stared at his friend. He did not know what Mitts was planning, nor what made him think he could cause the destruction of two of the most powerful gangs in Manhattan. On closer inspection, Mitts looked tired, strained. There were deep circles under his eyes and he was pale. Spot knew, at that moment, that his friend was in over his head. He also knew there was no point in arguing.

"Spot, when all dis is ova. I'm prolly gonna haveta hide out a while. I'm woirkin both sides and if either a dem finds me-" Mitts sighed and did not finish his sentence.

"We'll keep ya under wraps in Brooklyn. Maybe Halem." Spot said.

Mitts glanced at his friend, but did not comment.

"I should go. Don't come back hea, alrigh'?"

Spot stared at him, but did not answer. With a last charismatic smirk that told his friend he was still the same Mitts he headed away across the roof.

"Just come back alive." Spot called after him and Mitts grinned. It was the closest he was going to get to affection.


	16. Chapter 15

_Spot put one foot up on the table leg and leaned back in his chair, tilting it onto two legs._

_"The pape's said dere was a gang war. Huge gun fight on tha streets."_

_Blink was leaning back in his chair too, an arm thrown up casually on Mush's shoulder, lazily smoking a cigarette._

_"We heard it. Somethin' dat big though, we all stayed inside." He said and Mush nodded._

_"Tha bulls had to break it up wit' a bunch a shootin' demselves. Arrested Paul Kelly and half a both gangs. The half dat wasn't dead dat is." Racetrack put in through a cloud of cigar smoke._

_"Yea an tha next day's headline? I think I sold a hundred pape's." Mush added._

_"Do you think Mitts was there?" Angie asked in hushed tones._

_Spot nodded thoughtfully._

_"I think he started it."_

_* * *_

The sun was turning everything and everyone shades of orange and yellow as it disappeared slowly over the edges of the buildings on this particular late afternoon in New York City. People, buyers and sellers of every kind of good available, milled about. Some walked quickly with purpose, others browsed slowly. Voices rose in a magnificent marketplace song. They advertised their goods, asked how much things were and called to other voices they recognized. Slightly sweaty horses pulled loads of goods, carriages of of the rich and stood lashed to posts, chewing their bits, impatient to be moving again.

A man and a woman walked hand-in-hand through the tumult. He walked in front. She trailed a step behind in the wake of his broad shoulders. He had brown hair, brown eyes and a handsome face, but not one that stood out. People looked at him, or nodded as they caught his eye and moved past, but they did not stare. They did not look back. It would have been clear to anyone actually watching their progression down the street that the boy had lived in the city all his life. He moved with an easy grace through the crowded street. Avoiding collisions with other people with mere sidesteps and squeezing his way through gaps in shoulders as if they were not really there.

For a moment, they stopped beneath the wide red-and-white-striped awning of a second hand book store. He had fitted himself neatly against a wall and, arm around her shoulders, had pulled her in beside him to avoid being run over by a huge man carrying two giant sacks of unidentifiable goods. He looked down at her and grinned broadly. Her almond-shaped deep brown eyes held more of a smile than her mouth. They communicated silently. The same thought had crossed both their minds.

"Extra! Extra! Earthquake and Fire! San Francisco in Ruins!" A high-pitched voice rose above the din of the crowds very near to them.

He stared with a smile and the small boy with the papers caught him at it.

"Buy a pape' mister? Earthquake hit San Francisco. Death and destruction." The boy grinned at him.

He dug in his pocket and handed the boy a nickel, but refused the paper.

" 'S a good headline. Youse'll sell out today." He said jerking his head to motion the boy on.

"I sell out no matta if tha headline's good or bad." The kid threw over his shoulder as he left them. He laughed outright and pulled the girl on.

He had only been to the place once or twice, but he seemed to know the way. His feet were leading him on without conscious effort. The sun was really sinking now as they neared it at last. There was a big picture window in the front dining room. For a moment, they stood outside on the darkening cobblestones. There were candles lit in the dining room; people gathered around a table. The scene inside glowed.

They had clearly just finished dinner. Angie and Autumn were clearing dishes, moving around the table with efficiency, taking away empty plates and silverware as they went. Autumn stopped by Blink and leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. He had been leaning back in his chair, one elbow propped up on Mush's shoulder. At the touch of her lips, he looked up at her with a huge, sloppy grin and there was tenderness in his lone blue eye.

With a jolt, he recognized Katie. She seemed huge to him, compared to the last time he had seen her. She had, apparently, not yet grown out of her unabashed love for Mush. She sat sideways across her chair, leaning her back against his shoulder. As he watched, Mush glanced down at her, extracted his arm out from underneath her, brushed her long blond hair out of her face and gripped her shoulder tightly in a fond, one-armed embrace. She giggled and clutched his arm with both of hers.

A glint of light directed his eye farther down the table. Racetrack had produced a bottle of some dark brown liquid and a few glasses. He was never to be seen without a cigar and now was no exception. It hung lightly from one corner of his mouth and he was talking out of the other. A pretty, but somewhat ill-tempered looking woman sat beside him. They were both looking farther down the table.

Amy had her back to them. He would have known her anywhere though. Her long brown hair spilled down her back and the tiny sliver of her face that he could see looked the same as always. He felt he could watch her all day. He had always said she was one of the prettiest girls he knew. Autumn and Amy had returned to the dining room, Autumn had brought some sort of cake or pie and Angie followed with dessert plates and spoons. His eyes still had not traveled all the way around the table. There was one face, yet, he needed to see.

Spot sat next to Amy, at the head of the table and closest to the door. He had one foot up on a leg of the table and was leaning back in his chair, tilting it onto two legs. His gray-blue eyes were taking in everything, darting from face to face. He spoke to the room at large. What he said made everyone grimace and frown, but they nodded to him as if what he had said rang true. Mitts knew by the look on Spot's face that he was talking about him. He could just tell.

"Spot's had dem talkin' 'bout me tha whole night." He said to the girl by his side.

"What makes you say that?" Her eyes regarded him with confusion.

"Jus' tha way Spot is. He likes bein' dramatic and he knew we were comin'." He grinned.

"How'd he know that?"

He shrugged and pulled her toward the door.

He pursed his lips and gave a piercing, echoing whistle. It was something he hadn't done in a long time, but he had not forgotten how to do it. As he had known would happen, someone appeared suddenly in the doorway and a pair of slate-gray eyes met his. They darted sideways to the girl by his side and back to his face. As he had predicted, there was no shock, nor surprise written on Spot's face. He simply drank in the sight of his old friend and a smirk twitched the left corner of his mouth. As if not a day had passed in the six years they had been apart, he brought his right hand up to within two or three inches of his face and spit in his palm.

"Mitts." He said and left it at that.

They followed him into the dining room and there was a scream and a crash as Angie actually dropped a dessert plate and rushed forward to hug Meg. The general noise in the room dropped for half a second and then a crescendo of welcoming voices filled the room.

The first few moments were a confused blur of faces and voices. Hands clapped him on the back and backhanded him across the shoulder. A couple of the women had kissed him on the cheek or hugged him. Racetrack had stuffed a glassful of the dark brown liquid he had seen earlier into his hand.

News came quickly. Spouted from different mouths, heard all at the same time from one ear or the other. The gangs were almost completely defunct. Jack and Sarah had moved to Santa Fe. The Chapparo Tenement had been rebuilt and renamed Hope House. They brewed rum in the basement.

"Give dem some room, ya bums." Spot had commanded after a few minutes of incoherent babbling.

Mush and Blink had exchanged scared looks and gripped each other's shoulders and then fell over each other with laughter. Spot, as he was so used to doing by now, ignored them. Racetrack had set about to finding more glasses. Spot ushered Meg into a chair and roughly shoved Mitts down into his own. Then he sat down too, Amy on his lap.

"You knew they were coming." She whispered in his ear.

He smirked at her.

"No way. What? Youse think I know everythin'?"

He directed his attention back to Mitts to avoid her eye.

"So tell me what happened." Spot said. He locked eyes with his old friend and Mitts knew in a heartbeat what he meant.


	17. Chapter 16

Mitts strode into Riven's stuss hall, shook off the prostitute that tried to grab his arm and crossed the floor with purpose. Paul Kelly sat as his usual table in the corner and Mitts hesitated for a fraction of a second. There were already men at the table with him. Paul himself, however, looked up, caught Mitts' eye and beckoned him over.

He saw Paul's eyes appraising him as he approached. He knew he looked worn, tired and dirty. Perhaps, a little more like he belonged in a place like this. As he stopped in front of the table he reached into his jacket. The other men around the table also made quick reactionary movements, but Paul stopped them all with a wave of his hand. Mitts slowly drew the revolver out of his pocket, careful to keep it pointed at the ground.

"Eastman's revolver, thought you might like it." He said as Paul picked up the gun.

He hefted it, ran his fingers over the intricate metal-work and then set it back down on the table and slid it back towards Mitts.

"You keep that."

"Tha Eastman's hit tha Chapparo's. Dey want Bowery. All of it. Dey're are planning a war. Dey're stockpiling weapons of all kinds at a dive on Chrystie street."

Some of the men around the table made outraged noises, but Paul simply sat there and digested the information.

"A job well done, my young friend." He purred finally.

Mitts nodded curtly at the praise. This man made his skin crawl. Mitts was scared and in awe of Paul Kelly in equal measure. He was short, well-dressed and soft-spoken, He was quiet, conservation and smart. He was an intimidating figure and Mitts found himself thinking he could respect and look-up to this man as a role model. Then he hated himself for thinking it.

The day had been hot. The evening was still hot. Everyone was sweating. It was a stand-off. The Eastman's were lined up down one side of Bowery, the Five Pointers on the other. It was noisy. The rival gangs shouted insults at each other and threw empty bottles, stones, anything they could put their hands on. Both sides were trying to provoke the other into making the first move.

The whole thing had started about an hour ago. Mitts had been there. A Five Pointer had been stopped by several members of the Eastman's. He had been bloodied a little, but nothing serious. Members of the Five Points had shown up almost immediately to break up the fist fight. It had turned into a shouting match between five of so members of each gang. Then back into a fist fight. Each time more members of each gang showed up. Now, the situation was getting intense. There were more than a thousand men on Bowery street and they just kept coming as word spread.

Mitts had quietly found a rooftop nearby to watch from. His face was too well known among both gangs to be seen on the street choosing a side. This tension was his doing. It had been easy. A few drunken nights in a few key places had stirred anger. He knew that when enough people hated each other you could simply poke one in the back and then duck when they turned around. They would believe what they wanted to believe and he could simply stand to the side and watch them destroy each other.

He crouched, out of sight of the street below, behind the railing of the roof. He was tired and sweaty. The sun-parched rooftop was still sweltering as if it was sweating from all the heat it had absorbed during the day. He clutched Monk's revolver in his hand and was alert and ready.

The sounds of whistles echoed down the streets. A number of bulls on horses were riding down the center of the street, attempting to keep the peace. Mitts' eyes watched their progress. The members of both gangs parted like water to let them pass and then closed back around them as they continued to yell into each others faces and threaten each other with heavy clubs and knives.

The bulls stopped to talk with someone in particular on the street. Mitts found the face he had been looking for. Monk Eastman was sneering at the bulls. As always, he looked dirty and unkempt. Mitts clutched the revolver tighter.

It all came down to this. Did he have the guts? How badly did he want this all to be over? He thought of Spot, his best friend. Beaten to within an inch of breathing, stab wounds on his chest and shoulder, thrown over the Brooklyn Bridge and left for dead. He thought of Meg, suffering the touch of this disgusting man and her terrified almond eyes watching her brother dying. He pointed the barrel of the gun down at the street below and with the unerring eye of a man that knew his way around a slingshot, squeezed the trigger.

The effect was a delayed explosion. Monk Eastman was dead. The gang war had begun. Revolvers were appearing from under jackets and pockets everywhere. Their pops and bangs were deafening. Smoke clouded the street. Whistles blew, but did nothing except add to the confusion and noise. Men were yelling, falling to the ground, the cobblestones ran red. Mitts could not really take it all in. He remained crouched by the railing until a hand seized him by the back of the collar.

"What are you still doing here? You should be long gone." Paul Kelly's voice hissed in his ear. Mitts looked up at him as he dragged him across the roof.

"The girl you want is at Baxster and Grand."

Mitts stared. How did Paul Kelly know he still had yet to find Meg? How did he know he was looking for her in the first place?

"Why are you helping me?"

"You just did me a favor, killing Eastman." Paul paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"And you remind me of me. Rather, who I would have been if I had taken the girl and ran. If I hadn't gotten caught up in all this in the first place."

Mitts didn't understand.

"I didn't have a choice. You do."

Paul reached down and wrenched the revolver from Mitts' hand. Quicker than Mitts could come to terms with the loss of the gun, Paul had pointed it into his face and cocked it.

"Go. Or I'll kill you myself." He said simply and practically threw Mitts down the stairs.

Mitts almost ran down the street. He was deep in gang territory now. The streets were narrow, dark and everything was covered in a layer of dirt and grease. Disgusting water pooled on the sides of the road and it smelled worse than the docks when a pile of dead fish washed up. It was eerily quiet. Everyone who was anyone was on Bowery.

It was getting late and he had not slept in more than thirty hours. His brain was working a little slowly, but he knew that even if he laid down he would not sleep. He had one more thing to do before he was done.

The address had been burned into his memory. The place itself was a building exactly like the others on the street. Squat, dirty and dark. He entered from the front door and looked around, expecting to see her. Instead, he found himself set upon by two women. Both were wearing ruffled, flashy but dirty looking dresses that showed quite a lot more skin than Mitts was used to seeing. Their faces were so heavily caked with make up that they looked like porcelain dolls except with wrinkles and dark bags under their eyes.

"Look at how young and handsome you are." One of them cooed and she grabbed his chin between her finger and thumb. Mitts tried not to shudder in disgust.

"I'm lookin' for a goil." He said, rather stiffly.

"Look no farther." The other said with a tiny bow as her friend giggled. Mitts repressed the urge to wrinkle his nose and shout at these stupid women. Instead, he smiled. It was a little fixed, but they bought it.

"No, a Japanese goil. She's prolly new." He said and swallowed, realizing exactly what he meant. If Meg was here in this house, with these women, it could mean only one thing.

"Oh, are you her boyfriend?" The first woman asked, batting her eyelashes ludicrously at him.

"No. I just-"

"Ooh, then you must have a date." Her voice had risen an octave.

Mitts hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"Yea."

"Well, then, you want the last door on your right." Said the woman pointing over her shoulder at a set of stairs.

He made for the stairs. They looked as though they might break and send him crashing into the basement at any moment, but '_anything to get away from these women_', he thought.

"I think she might be in there with another '_date_' right now." One of the women called to him as his feet found the top landing. He heard them giggle and did not repress the shudder this time.

Halfway down the hall the last door on the right opened and a man backed out, shutting the door behind him. Mitts flattened himself against the wall, leaning against it casually as the man passed. There was a certain spring to his step and a strong smell of sweat and alcohol to him. An urge to either be sick or soak the man to within an inch of his life rose in Mitts' chest, but that was not why he had come. When the man had passed out of sight he continued down the hall and knocked softly on the last door. There was no answer so he turned the knob and let himself in. She was there, alone, sitting on the edge of her bed. For just a moment, the light from the doorway fell across her face. She looked tired, miserable and broken. Then, she squinted up into the light and stood, her face broke into a lopsided and seductive smile.

"Who is there?" Came her voice. It was soft and slow, with a tiny bit of that strange accent, but there was something different about it too. It was playful, almost coy. Something a little like the girls downstairs. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"You don't know me?"

Her eyes, those beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, were thrown back into darkness when he closed the door. For another second she blinked, unseeing, and then her face became rigid. Her expression hardened and her eyes dropped from his face. She sank back down on the bed, her chest heaved with the deep breaths she was taking. Mitts watched for a moment as she seemed about to burst from the low square neckline of her dress. Realizing what he was doing he looked away quickly.

"Come on, we gotta go." He said and she stared up at him and shook her head.

"Ya can't do dis."

She was silent for a second, when she spoke her voice was quiet, measured.

"There's really no one to tell me what I can or can't do anymore. My parents and my brother-" Her voice shook for a moment but she paused and kept it under control. "Everyone I care about is dead."

His eyes narrowed a little. He had not mistaken the meaning of her words. He also knew they weren't true. She wanted him to leave and not come back. She wanted to protect him, to keep him out of whatever she was planning, but that still didn't explain-

"Why? Why are ya doin' dis?"

She was on her feet again, her chest heaving worse than before.

"Because Monk killed my brother! He killed my brother and he raped me and I'm going to find him."

"And what are youse gonna do when ya find him?" He roared back. She stared at him silently.

Mitts stood stock still. The information seemed to have passed right through his tired brain without making any impact. For a moment he could barely understand what she had said, let alone wring any meaning from it. What he did know was that Meg, the tiny, frightened girl he had rescued from the fire; the girl that had looked up at him from the wash room counter with scared eyes and refused to let go of his hand, could never kill anyone. He could though.

She sat back down on her bed quickly, clutching at her chest. She was taking quick deep gulps of air and he realized the dress she was wearing was making it impossible for her to breathe properly. It was as if it was fighting her.

He joined her on the bed, and with one fluid motion had untied the knot near the back of her neck. The dress widened on the back, the laces slackening. The shoulders of her dress fell forward and Meg raised both her hands to keep it from falling off completely, but her chest was expanding freely now. She was taking deep calming breaths. Her eyes were closed, but he could see tears welling under her lashes. Mitts slumped forward putting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. The bed shook slightly underneath him and he knew she had started to cry even though she made no noise.

"Youse don't haveta do dis." He said softly, unable to think of anything else to say.

"It's not so bad." She replied in a half-whisper herself. Neither of them were looking at each other. "I even have some regulars. Some of the men are really-"

He had shut his eyes tightly and waved both hands at her frantically. He didn't need to hear the details. She laughed a little in spite of herself and he opened his eyes to see the tiniest of smiles on her face.

"I just pretend it's someone else." She said.

He had not mistaken her meaning before. He did not mistake it now.

"Will you come wit' me?" He asked softly. "Please? I can't leave youse hea."

She stared at him and then shook her head fiercely. He sighed and looked down at his hands. For some reason, he didn't want to tell her and he realized he had been putting it off.

"Monk's dead. I killed him. Dat's what I've been doin' all dis time. Tryin' ta find youse and tryin ta get at him."

He caught her hand and held it between both of his own.

"When we first met, I told ya that I would protect youse. Remember?"

She stared down at his hands and nodded, tears welling in her eyes again.

"I won't let anythin' hoirt youse again. I said I'd protect youse and I will."


	18. Chapter 17

Mitts did not like being the center of attention. Sure, he could pull it off. He could sit around a table and tell the end of a thrilling story with him as the main character. He could raise a glass and toast himself with a smile. He was charming and charismatic when he wanted to be. He could make people laugh; make them want him around them. The person he really was though, beneath all the different faces and personalities, craved something else. He liked quiet and solitude. He truly enjoyed the company of only a few people and mostly, he preferred even them, one at a time. Perhaps that was what brought him to the roof. Because he knew Spot, alone, would follow.

"So what of Eastman?"

Mitts' knuckles tightened on the rail and Spot's keen blue eyes did not miss the instinctive reaction. Mitts turned to face Spot and stare at him. He did not lie to Spot. He did not withhold information. This time, though, as it never had before, it cost him something to tell the truth. It was to be only the second time in his life that Mitts would admit to killing a man.

"I did it. Shot him from the roof. He's dead."

Spot regarded him with the, always present, mask-like stare. To anyone else, it was indifferent and cold. Mitts, however, knew his friend too well to believe that. He saw the tiny change in the way Spot's eyes glinted and the smirk that twitched at the corner of his mouth. Mitts knew Spot would have very much liked to thank him. He wouldn't, however, that was just the way Spot was. It didn't matter to Mitts. It was enough that he knew.

"And Meg?"

Mitts leaned back against the rail and lit a cigarette. The light from the match illuminating his face for a brief second.

"She still cries sometimes at night. When she thinks I don't hear her."

He dragged hard on his cigarette. The thought of those deep brown eyes in pain still incensed him.

"But it's alrigh'. I'm always dere in tha mornin'. And it don't happen as often as it used ta. Plus, I think bein' back hea'll be good for her. She and Angie were always close."

Spot shifted on his feet, a tiny bit uncomfortable.

"What 'bout youse?"

Mitts grinned into his cigarette so Spot wouldn't see him do it. Spot asking him about his feelings was unprecedented and Mitts knew he wouldn't have asked anyone else.

"I never thought I'd be a murderer, but I've made my peace wit' it. Long time ago now. I'm alrigh'."

"For a while dere, I thought maybe youse was in tha gang still. Dat was what you wanted to be. Maybe youse jus' disappeared into dem."

Mitts looked at his friend. He could see it in Spot's face. He had thought those things. Perhaps even voiced them, maybe to Amy, but he had never believed them. They knew each other far too well for either of them to need to comment further.

Mitts threw his cigarette to the ground and held out a hand to Spot. Spot grasped it and as Mitts had done, only once a very long time ago, pulled him into a one-armed hug. Six years and being finally reunited with his best friend could even make the King of the Brooklyn Newsies just a little soft.

"Glad ya back."

"Me too, Spot, me too."


End file.
